A Light from the tunnel of times past 💡
My mom found and gave to me a picture of her dad, Papaw, as I called him. In the photo, he is in the foreground, sitting at a table on the patio of my childhood. In the background of that picture are several small details of my childhood home. Gazing for some time at that picture transported me backwards through a tunnel of times past.
To begin, I noticed the infamous backdoor that we weren’t supposed to slam as children heading out to play. Then, there’s the wooden fence my dad built, which reminded me that he also designed and poured the concrete for that patio. Additionally, I can see part of our clothes line with its bag of clothespins. I recall my mom teaching me the proper way to hang clothes, sheets, and towels to minimize wrinkles and shorten the drying time.
Papaw 👴🏻
Once the surge of those background memories drifted down the stream of remembrances, another torrent of emotions began swelling–Papaw. In the photo he sits in one of his classic jumpsuits that he wore nearly every day of his life except for yard work and church events. His smile is tender in this photo, and despite the not-so-great quality of the camera, the picture still manages to capture that twinkle in his eyes.
I adored that man. Now, as an aging adult, I am certain that Papaw was full of flaws. Family rumors of the daredevil antics of his youth, his hobo days after marrying my grandmother– leaving her for weeks at a time to raise two young boys and manage an independent grocery store with its own lunch counter by herself– his issues with depression, and perhaps even some philandering, were whispered stories among the family adults. As kids, we gathered bits and pieces of these stories, as one does a torn up letter, but we were simply too young to put the pieces together. He was simply our Papaw.
Traveling Backwards through the Tunnel of time 🔙
Staring at the photo of this complicated man that I am only now beginning to see in a realistic light, I assess the other person in the photo. She is a college student with her hand on Papaw’s shoulder–a habit I recognize because it is me. I tend to place my hand on the shoulders of people who are seated at tables, or even desks in a classroom. I suppose it is my way of saying I care about you; how can I help; or, can I get you anything? It took my breath away upon first seeing it. So much is captured in that frozen image of time.
Papaw often called me a Kewpie-doll or China-doll. I am sure this was because of my size. I was small for my age for many of my younger years. I was also often sick during this time period, and I recall being hospitalized at least twice. Both memories are blurs of oxygen tents, IVs in my thighs, dimly lit hospital rooms, and Papaw’s worried face when I would wake with bleary eyes from sickness induced sleep.
Purple Hazy memories 💜
I remember during one of these stays, he gave me a purple popsicle. Purple was my favorite color–a color he hated because he associated it with Christ’s crucifixion–but when faced with two granddaughters (my cousin and I) who both loved purple, he came to terms with that color. But, I digress.
Anyway, he gave me that half popsicle. (Remember how adults would break those double-stick popsicles into two?) I was lying on my side, with the hospital bed rail up, trying to lick the popsicle for him. He said it would make me better, but I couldn’t keep my eyes open. The popsicle melted, and I remember waking enough to experience a short burst of fear that I would get spanked for making a mess. (Not that Papaw would have ever laid a hand on me, but I was sick, and logic eluded me.)
There was another time I woke up in a hospital bed crying because there were needles in my legs (IVs) and I was scared. Papaw patted my hand and told me not to be afraid as he wiped away his own tears.
During one of those hospital stays he gave me a bouquet of pink plastic flowers that my grandmother sprayed with perfume. Once home, I kept it in my bedroom for years, and I would sniff it countless times to see if I could still catch a whiff of that perfume.
Runaway Story 🏃♀️
Another time, Grandmother and Papaw came to stay at our childhood home while my parents were out of town. I became mad at my grandmother for some reason–that part eludes me–but I decided to run away. I lived on a small cul-de-sac in the country, surrounded by hills, so I am not sure where I thought I would go. Nonetheless, I took off running in my headstrong way down the street until I got to the main road with fast moving cars and no real safe space to walk.
Tail tucked between my legs, I slowly trudged back to my house, and I slumped against one side of it, arms crossed, still mad, but losing steam. Out of the house came Papaw. I don’t know how he knew I was there, but there he was. I am not sure precisely what he said, but he did tell me a story about a time he ran away. He added, with great solemnity, that running away never solved problems.
Looking back on that now, I wonder if there was more he was confessing, but I would not have been old enough to catch the symbolism of his words. I do recall Papaw encouraging me to be more understanding of my grandmother. He further added that as the oldest child, he counted on me to be her biggest helper. He wanted me to apologize to Grandmother and be “his girl” by being her helper from then on.
A Grandfather’s Love 💖
And that is what it came down to. When I studied that picture, I was reminded of being “Papaw’s girl,” something he probably also told all the other grandchildren. Nevertheless, I believed he loved me most of all, and that made me feel special. It now seems naive and silly, but that is how he could make me feel. A feeling that has never left me, even now as I look at that image.
The Abundance of his legacy ✨
Wiping away my reminiscing tears, I gaze at this man who was complex in ways I never knew. He only had a 5th grade education, but he still managed to educate himself through his endless curiosity. Papaw was complicated, and yet simple. He managed to ultimately live an abundant life.
Papaw traveled all over the world with my grandmother visiting and staying with missionaries, and he also traveled through his hometown as a teen standing on his circa 1920s motorcycle. He was the trusted treasurer of his church for as long as I can remember. Papaw played football before there was all the protective clothing, and he loved the game until Alzhiemer’s disease took his mind. He retired from C & O railroad, and he once owned a grocery store that was flooded twice by the Ohio River. It was the ‘37 flood that ended those retail days and inspired him to build a house on a hill. Yet, this same man once swam across the Ohio River from South Shore, KY to somewhere near Portsmouth.
He had three children, my mom being a late-in-life surprise, and he had nine grandchildren. He loved us all.
There are stars which I regard in the mornings when I walk or run. They line heaven’s boulevard. They twinkle their good mornings to me like Papaw’s eyes once twinkled his love. I’d like to think he is part of their stardust.
I wish I could give every child a grandfather like mine.
Steph Simply 
Such sweet memories!
LikeLike