Ethan, my younger grandson, just turned 2 years old. Susie and I were
out of town, so we missed his birthday party. My daughter-in-law Emily
always has themed parties for the boys. As this picture shows, the theme this birthday was baseball. My other grandson, Tommy (3 years old),
is on the left and Ethan is on the right. It would be very hard to be anything but
a proud grandparent with two grandsons that cute.
Part of the reason we were out of town was that while Susie
was at a medical conference in Philadelphia, I was able to spend Saturday in Milltown, NJ where I grew up. I went to the graveyard where my dad
is buried and took a picture of the gravestone to show my mom who probably will
never have the opportunity to visit it.
My dad’s grave is in my mom’s family plot. Among other relatives, my
grandfather is buried there. He was always my favorite relative. I called him
Gramps. I remember lots of fun times with him. He taught me to play Pinochle and
other card games. He used to tell me stories he made up and silly rhymes like, “Adam
and Eve and Pinchme went down to the river to bathe. Adam and Eve got drowned,
who do you think got saved?” Of course, the correct answer of Pinchme resulted
in getting pinched.
My dad was not at all into anything athletic. I don’t
remember him ever throwing me a ball. Gramps would. He would play kickball with me or whatever sport I was interested in. He traveled extensively and told great tales of his
travels. To me, he was a larger-than-life character that I loved.
I found out as I got older that he really was quite a character. He
had no middle name, but always referred to himself as James Vernon Cockerill
(note the gravestone). As best we can figure, he borrowed the name from Vernon Castle. I still have some pieces of wood that he
claimed were from the crash of Castle’s airplane. Gramps claimed he served
during World War I at the airfield in Texas where the crash happened. I use
the word claim because separating truth from reality with him was hard.
He got in trouble one time while visiting the island of Guernsey
as he claimed to be going to visit the queen. They take the queen rather
seriously over there and suspected him of who knows what. The friend he was visiting
in Guernsey never spoke to my grandfather again after the episode.
Gramps wore outrageous clothes and was vain enough that he would
never admit how old he was. His grave only has the date of his death, not of
his birth. He died in his late 80s while rehearsing for a play at the
retirement community where he lived.
Whatever his flaws, he was Gramps. By contrast, my dad’s
parents were Grandmother and Grandfather. There were very much of the
children-should-be-seen-and-not-heard school. I remember little about them
other than that they were scary and smelled funny.
It should be pretty obvious which grandparent I want to be like. Not
coincidentally, I always wanted to be called Gramps. Tommy, however, calls me
Papa or Papa Bill. In truth, he could call me Poopyhead and I would be just
fine with it. After all, he is my grandson. Look at that mischievous grin from his train-themed 3-year-old birthday party. How
could I not be smitten? So too with Ethan’s crooked smile.
I want to be a part of their lives. I want to be that fun
grandfather that is willing to do crazy things with them. I look forward to the
day when I can go bike riding with them, help them build amazing Lego creations, teach them to play Pinochle or to post up in
basketball, or join them in whatever they want to do. For now, I will make
funny faces at them, wrestle with them, and maybe even trick them into saying, “Pinch
me!”