Remembering Grandpa

Remembering Grandpa

This is not a post about kink, but rather first loves and reminiscence.

Being raised in foster care, I’ve had many people come and go from my life. Some were with me for a short time and others for longer, but all of them share the final departure. For most, it was because it was a job and the job had ended. For others, it was a choice. Either way, I’m sure each person has left a little bit of themselves, imprinted on me.

For the people who did stay for the duration (which has been very few), my grandfather is who I remember fondest. Born in 1937 on a small farm in Ontario, Canada, he was the oldest son of a man he would never meet. His father died at the age of 33, a couple of months before my grandfather’s birth, but was the love of my great-grandmother’s life. She spoke fondly of him until her death at the age of 71.

My grandfather married my grandmother in the early ’60s, and I am sorry to admit I know little about his life between his birth and their marriage. Looking back, I was always so focused on the now and not the before. Had there been more time with him, maybe I would have asked. I could, in theory, ask my grandmother, but second-hand stories are not usually as good as the ones from the source. One story that I remember fondly though, is of when he asked my grandmother to marry him.

They were driving down a dirt road, windows down, the car full of hot summer air and gravel dust. My grandfather had one arm on the back of the seat, his other loosely over the steering wheel. Turning his head, he looked over at my grandmother and said, “You wouldn’t marry me, would you?”

Thinking it to be an odd question as they hadn’t known each other long, but wanting to be honest, my grandmother replied: “Yeah, I think I would.”

He looked back at the road and said nothing else for the duration of the drive.  Arriving at their destination (his mother’s house), my not quite yet grandparents walked through the door and my grandfather declared, “We’re getting married!” My grandmother’s mouth fell open and then she burst out laughing.

He believed in living in the moment, taking chances and going forward with gusto. They were married 3 months later and that marriage lasted 50 years and saw six children raised. I was their first grandchild. And they are now blessed with eight great-grandchildren.

Never one to mince words, my grandfather always said what he meant, told you when you were in the wrong and was brutally honest. He also listened to learn, had a great sense of humour and worked hard. But mostly I remember how much he loved my grandmother. Always bringing her a gift after an extended parting or building something for her. Even after 50 years, my grandfather would slap my grandmas bum on her way by or give it a little pinch. I remember often hearing her squeal, “Oh, would you stop it!” But she always finished her sentence with a little laugh and a big smile. How could she not?

As a little girl, I always thought my grandfather was the world’s strongest man. He seemed so big and I guess in comparison to a little girl, he was. But he could be so gentle and careful. I remember him brushing my hair which was and still is incredibly long and thick. But where my mother would just rip through my locks, my grandfather would take his time, brushing each strand thoroughly and using the moment for a little chat.

He always made sure to dance with me at weddings and had more patience with me than any other person I’ve ever met. Even when I raked his already planted flower beds or woke him from his afternoon nap with squeals of childhood laughter.

While in foster care, which was about 15 years off and on, my grandparents took the time to drive 15 hours each way to come and visit me one time each year. I think that he would approve and be supportive of me and Mister K’s dynamic. He thought Mister K was a good man and told me “you’d be doing yourself a favor if you keep that one around.” I’m very happy that I listened to that advice, no matter if unsolicited.

He lost his battle with cancer 11 years ago, after a brave fight. And while he may not have been inspiring to many, he was the most supportive of me. My grandmother is still alive and well, and we talk quite regularly. We’ve always shared a strong bond, but it was undeniably strengthened with the loss of both our first great love. I try to make the trip to see her each year now that I’m an adult. If you ever get the chance to drive through the Canadian Rocky Mountains, I recommend you do.

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