Something happened yesterday that reminded me of my grandpa.
I was at lunch with my grand-daughter and she kept reaching over and pinching
my cheeks with her hands. In her
excitement to see me, she could not contain herself, nor find a way to express
it other than just busting out this tight huge smile and squeezing just as hard
as she could. Yep, she had some of the
Italian blood in her. I knew then and there, my Grandpa was smiling with joy at
his great-great grand-daughter!
When I was a little girl, every time we were met at the door
to walk into Grandma Gliatt’s house, Grandpa was always right there behind her
all smiles. The next thing to come was
the dreaded cheek pinching. It was
Grandpa’s way of being endearing and no one had the heart to tell him it hurt
like hell. We loved him just the same.
His face always had the kindest smile on it with a twinkle in his eye but when
he grabbed your cheek and shook it, you prayed the minute went quickly. When Ava did that yesterday, if I closed my
eyes, I could have swore it was Grandpa again coming back to cheek on me again!
It makes me reflect
on just how much time has truly gone by since he passed away, both of my
grandparents. They were from Italy and when they died, a rich history went with
them. The stories they would tell us of
their life, when we could understand their dialect, which could be a challenge,
were fascinating. I wish I had more time
with them to hear more stories. It
helps me understand where I came from, part of who I am today.
An integral part of growing up should be listening to older
generations tell stories of days gone by.
These are the best history lessons of life. Children need exposure to many role models
and thrive on adult attention from more than just their parents. I remember one older senior citizen named
Louise that lived next to one of my grandparents. She was an invalid with no legs. I use to go over and visit her every time we
saw those particular grandparents. She would weave on her big loom and also
tell me elaborate stories of her years where she was courted and attending
galas and enjoying life to the fullest.
These visits were treasured by both her and me. It gave Louise an opportunity to share a
glimpse back over the wonderful life that she had led. This mutual time gave me a chance to peak
into a world I would never know existed.
I sometimes wonder, if in this world of modern media,
technology and competitive sports for children of all ages is there time or an
effort to have children be told stories?
Are they encouraged to bond with elders anymore? The richness of history can really be found
much more in the spirit and stories of those that have lived it. Young people need to find the time to spend
with those that have those experiences while they are here.
My neighbor in Kettering, Ohio baked apple pies and told me
about her children, husband and her years as a school teacher. I was in grade school but she wanted me to
know what life held for me in my future.
She died while we still lived in that house but I knew what kind of
woman she was and I admired her. I
aspired to have the kind of heart she had and have the depth of love she had
for her kids and her husband.( She was also a great baker! )
I write my blogs for many reasons. One of the motivations though is as a legacy.
I want the opportunity to leave stories about me behind. I remember so many
older people that cared enough about me, as a child, to sit and tell me their
thoughts. They shared their lives with
me and I feel I am a better person because of it, their selfless sharing, and
their openness.
We live in a different reality. There is a fear in society about talking to
strangers. In my neighborhood, most of the folks don’t even know each other’s
names much less talk to each other. It
is hard to even talk to a child unless the parents are friends for safety
reasons these days. Hence, never would
a child come knocking on a door just to talk.
Society also tends to be quite a bit more judgmental. I think more people are afraid to express these
feelings due to the tendency to be categorized as this or that. I understand that concern, however, I
suppose I am a risk taker of sorts.
These women taught me that life is about risk taking. Leaving my stories and reflections behind is
like the old lady who weaved on the loom and sat alone in the retirement
home. If she never talked to anyone, her
stories would have died with her.
Silence is not always welcome.
Blessed are those that share and more blessed are those that
listen. Please know, as you read this,
I am squeezing your cheek…ever so slightly… Grandpa Tell Me Bout The Good Old Days by the Judds
YouTube Video Link Above
