Gindaddy

That's what we called him. I have no idea which of the older cousins' soft baby lips, more accustomed to forming a small "O" around a nipple (bottle or breast)-- than summoning attendance, was first to bestow that moniker upon my grandfather. Such a simple, even silly word -- Gindaddy. A child's inept attempt to mimic what he'd heard. Yet it was a word that came to take on a life of its own. A word that defined a man. A word that, when spoken, communicated it's intent -- quickly, succinctly. The way we cousins (and my grandmother, my mom, and the aunts) inflected that word when we uttered it spoke volumes to each other.

Where to begin in my attempt to describe this man who was so important in my life; this man who had such a lasting influence; this man I respect to this very day. I remember him as being strong, yet kind, gentle, soft-spoken, and fun-filled. When I bring his face to mind, I see him smiling, his eyes glowing with pride -- for me. I don't remember him raising his voice....ever, yet, make no mistake, he was king of his domain. I don't know how we cousins knew that was true, but we did. I don't know how we knew what he expected of us without him saying a word, but we did.

Maybe we gained this knowledge from our mothers -- the girls he raised. My impression from them was that they saw him as stern, a task-master, demanding excellence. Yet their impressions were loving ones. Thinking back, I cannot remember any family member in this rather large family, ever making a disparaging remark about him or MomP. Er....one slight correction here -- (you know what they say about universal statements). I do remember MomP being aggravated with Gindaddy and voicing her aggravations (IOU's) :), but not disparaging him. How has it come about that so many of todays' parents seem to think nothing about putting down the other parent in front of thieir children? I've done it myself. Did it not happen as much back then, or was I just unaware or.... out of ear-shot?

When I think about my grandfather one anecdote after another zips through my mind. Maybe relating these memories will best explain how I remember him.

Gindaddy always wore a white dress shirt, a suite vest with a pocket for the fob holding his pocket watch, and suite pants. I never remember him in anything else -- even when doing outside work, although he would sometimes roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt when working outside. When going out, he wore a straw hat if it was summer. The rest of the year a fedora crowned his head.

I remember one summer at the coast when he and MomP were walking down the dirt road in the middle of a group of family headed to the beach. Gindaddy took MomP's hand and said, "You and me. You and me. We're going to sweep the stars." As he said this he raised one arm and made a huge sweeping motion. I don't know if I remember this because it was unusual to hear him say something so personal, or because of MomP's reaction. Normally she wouldn't respond to his teasing or jokes. But on this glorious summer day, surrounded by family, with her man expressing his devotion to her, I remember a small, shy smile coming to her face as she averted her huge brown eyes slightly downward. And I remember they both had on hats.

My grandfather had a headfull of beautiful, wavy, thick, silver-white hair, which he would let me brush for minutes on end. Now, I haven't the faintest idea why I wanted to brush his hair.... But he would sit in his chair, reading his newspaper while I brushed away.

My grandfather taught me how to use the dictionary. Well....maybe he didn't actually teach me how to use it, but he insisted I use it. During my younger years my dad traveled during the week and my mom was skittish about staying home alone -- alone with me and my two brothers. So we would load up, drive to my grandparents' home to spend the night, wake up early, drive home to dress and get to school. The result was that much of my homework assignments were completed at my grandparents. MomP was always busy in the kitchen or bathroom (the snuff??) and my mom was busy with my brothers, so I ended up doing my homework in the room where my grandfather would sit reading the paper. If I needed to know the spelling or definition of a word I would ask him, and he never failed to tell me to "look it up." Aggravated the hell out of me!

My grandparents raised five children during the depression. I don't remember talk of hardship, although there must have been some. The only story I remember is the one of my Aunt B (one of the more spirited aunts) as a teenager wanting to visit a friend who lived some distance away. Apparently she was told the gas rations were low and she couldn't make the visit. So......as the story goes..she hid on the wide running board of Gindaddy's car. He was halfway to work before he noticed her. He had to turn around and take her back home -- wasting some of that precious gas in the process. BTW, this is the same aunt who really and truly received switches and ashes one year for Christmas. At least, that's what my grandmom, my mom, and the rest of the aunts insisted was true. If true, it didn't dampen her spirit.

Gindaddy had four daughters. While they were growing up he told them he'd rather see them with a broken leg than on a dance floor.

My father was olive complected with dark, wavy hair. When my grandfather met my father, Gindaddy was convinced my dad lived on "Catholic Hill." My mom's family were Southern Baptist, so....

Not often, but enough to remember, my grandfather would sit in a rocking chair on the front porch peeling pomegranates for us while singing "Clementine."

As a teenager, I was going steady with a boy from my high school and was wearing his senior ring (with a hunk of melted wax so it would stay on my finger). Somehow I found myself with a date with a different boy for a Valentine's banquet. This boy and the banquet were both in my grandparents neighborhood. So when I got to my grandparents I at least had the decency to take off one boy's ring before going out with a different boy. I put the ring on my grandparents mantle and when my grandfather saw it he was quite upset because it looked to him like it belonged to a man -- not a boy. The interesting thing is that he didn't say a word to me. MomP related all this to me.

When I was in college and would come home on weekends, my grandfather would give me a dollar to "help out next week." God love him.

In my wallet I still have a yellowed, brittle Dear Abby Q&A that my grandfather cut out of the paper and gave to me. The question was from a college freshman talking about the sexual aspect and temptations of college. How she felt as if she had to "put out" to be accepted. Across the clipping my grandfather had written, "We are not worried because we know our K would never think like this. This is NOT our K."

My grandfather had a dream about me and he woke up crying. He would never tell anyone what the dream involved, even my grandmother. Again, he didn't tell me this -- my grandmother did. To this day I wonder what the hell that dream was about!


There you have it, my strongest memories. That's him. That's my Gindaddy.

MomP passed away before my grandfather. He didn't live many years after that -- he said he didn't really want to. When he died I was in Florida visiting my mother-in-law. My mom hadn't told me he was ill because she didn't want to ruin our trip (we were students at the time, piss-poor, with few resources to do much of anything). My mother-in-law told me of his death when my husband and I came back from the Jai-Alai arena. I had been at a sporting event betting as my grandfather was dying. I imagine he would rather have seen me with a broken hand or sumpin'.