Ninety Years Old Today!

Today is my Grandpa's 90th birthday. My first memories of Grandpa are of him writing in his journal, whistling an old song (or singing in a falsetto voice), reading while eating breakfast, taking pictures and more pictures. He would take me to his studio/office on ISU's campus in Pocatello. He was always kind to everyone - greeted everyone we passed (or so it seemed) by name. Once they were out of earshot he would tell me something juicy about the person.

I have an image burned into my memory of the back of his head as he drove a car. The image also includes my Grandma's profile because she was always looking at him and talking to him as he drove. He teased her that he had "yellow fever" as he ran every yellow light, her white knuckles gripping the door handle. He used to say that he waited for her to start putting lipstick on, then he would run over the potholes in the road. In 1992 I took an 8 day long road trip with the two of them from Gettysburg, Pennsylvania to Pocatello, Idaho. (My family had just moved to North Carolina and I was returning west to go to school.) We stopped at a restaurant for every meal (that's when I got to know Bob Evans) and we stopped at a motel the moment it got dark every night. Grandpa eased Grandma's mind about one particular motel with a dozen motorcycles parked in the lot. "Don't worry, Car-roll, their jackets claim they're 'Riders for Christ.'" They told me lots of stories I should have written down and they laughed together. Grandma offered me a lot of bananas, really it was the same banana over and over again. Grandpa told Grandma he would bite her finger clean off if she pointed it at him again. Grandma didn't know how to drive, so I was supposed to be a second driver on the trip. Grandpa didn't let me take the wheel until day 7 when he was finally too tired. As soon as the two of them fell asleep in the back seat, I sped up to the speed limit (in Wyoming, so 75) and then some. When Grandma woke up we were in Ogden Canyon and she remarked that we got through Wyoming faster than she thought we would.

Once I got to school at Ricks, I wasn't able to get a job that I was counting on (something about a few thousand other kids going for the same thing). A few times I wondered how I was going to eat for the week and that's when I would get an envelope in the mail with nothing but a $20 bill in it and no return address. Grandpa didn't attend church for most of the time I've been alive. He was more sensitive to the spirit, though, than most people I know. It was only after his stroke in 1995 that he would tell me through tears (something new for me to see) about sending me money when I was in college.

Grandpa and I are about the same size now. His room at Greenwood Manor smells just like his house in Pocatello did. I can still sit down with him and look at his photo albums and he likes to look at mine. He points out the photos I've taken that are good and I still feel a little thrill of pride that an artist like him would like anything I've done. I miss the old Grandpa. He can still tell a story and he still has that sweet and tender heart, but he can't go where he wants to go and he can't find his wallet. The new Grandpa has helped me understand that what is in my heart will be on display when all my guards are down in my old age. I hope my heart is as happy as his when the time comes.