Memories of Granddaddy

Just thinking about his memory makes me want to cry…

One of my deepest pain that I am still not over because it hurt the deepest was when my granddaddy died. My granddaddy was my everything. He always knew what to say to make me smile and could cook the best “buttah” beans of the South. My granddaddy was a man of few words and could curse you out so bad that you wish you never pissed him off. He never liked taking pictures nor ever smiled in them. He was well over 6 feet tall and he always wore khaki pants and a white t-shirt. His hair was thick like a lion’s mane with a bald spot in middle. He had a beard that he always kept well-groomed. His complexion was that of milk chocolate with eyes that could pierce your soul!

My earliest memory was when I was younger and learning how to braid. I was practicing on my doll’s hair but it never seemed to come out right. So one day, I saw him combing his hair and I asked him if I could comb his hair. He allowed me to and it was all over! Needless to say, I have not only combed his hair, but I also put pony tails in his hair and I braided his hair. Then I told him to wear the braids for the day. He did, although his hair didn’t stay that way for long. It began to unravel but he wore his style proudly!

Another memory was when in I was in middle school. My cousin and I ran home to drop off our book bags so we can head to the Boys and Girls Club. I had to go to the bathroom really bad! We were banging on the door and yelling for granddaddy to open the door and we could hear him yell he was coming but most importantly we heard his slippers. Those slippers! They made a swishing sound that is so distinguished that you can hear it a mile away. I was doing the “I gotta go to the bathroom potty dance” on the porch while my cousin tried to find another way into the house to open the door. Long story short, I made it to the bathroom just in time!

These stories are just a few of many memories I have about my granddaddy. Just writing about these two alone is inspiring me to talk more about him. Talking about him is therapeutic to me because I try to block these memories out into existence so I won’t be sad or cry. I know how is in a better place and not suffering anymore but the memories of him gone forever are painful but it does put a smile on my face thinking about him. I miss you granddaddy and love you so much.