Time Spent With Family is Forever
Life is an interesting journey. Like most people, I've had my ups and downs, good moments and bad, collecting memories along the way, not always realizing which ones will stick and which will fall by the wayside. This week, I stopped by my parents' house to visit them in the middle of the afternoon—the prime time to meet with retired people. On my way there, as I reminisced through the neighborhood I grew up in, I thought about how, when I was a teenager and had just gotten my license, one of my favorite things to do was to drive to my grandparents' houses. I was very lucky to have both sets of my grandparents, and what's even better, they both lived fairly close to each other, within less than a mile. I loved going from the familiarity of Salem to Roanoke, a short 20-minute drive. Back in those days, my world was much smaller, and trips to Roanoke were fun and exciting, especially with a new driver's license—I had freedom and could explore. Now, as an adult with a quite a few irons in the fire, my footprint is much larger, and thus, driving around Roanoke is not nearly as exciting. I remember the curves, the stoplights, certain trees that looked cool in the fall, certain houses that had a cool car parked in the driveway—all these little things that just stuck with me over the years. The reward after the trip was to have a quick lunch with my Ninny and Pawpaw or my Grandma and Grandpa. Some days at one of their homes, some days at the other. I would do this at least once a week. I can still remember the smell of their houses, the way they had them decorated, the trinkets and knick-knacks that I wish I still had. I remember talking with them about life, trying to soak up some wisdom. I remember making jokes or messing with little things just to get a rise out of them and see them smile. What I remember and cherish the most, is the time that I got with them.
Yesterday, heading to see my parents, it dawned on me: they represent that to me now. I've always viewed them as you view parents—you love them, you respect them, but in a lot of cases, they are also your teacher and your disciplinarian, so it's different than the relationship with your grandparents. As I headed through the neighborhood I grew up in on the way to their home, I passed by an area where I used to ramp over the curb on my bike recklessly, much to the dismay of my caring mother. I passed by my best friend's house and remembered stuffing our beds with pillows so it looked like we were sleeping, so we could sneak out and get Wendy's and smoke cigars. I passed a truck parked in front of a house where a childhood friend, who grew up in the neighborhood with me, is raising his family in a house that I sold him a few streets away.
I got to my parents' home and, very much like when I visited my grandparents, it was a meaningful and nostalgic hour or so. No lunch was had this time, but we had meaningful discussions, cried a little bit, and laughed a little bit. They lifted me up in a time of need without any hesitation. We got to talk about so many things that I wish I could still talk about with my grandparents. Nearing the end of our visit, I asked my parents if they, by chance, had any of my grandfather's old watches. I remember those watches, but not well. My Grandpa always wore a black-dial quartz watch that was gold-plated and something similar to a pie pan dial. My Pawpaw always had a stretch band gold-plated Casio. When we walked into my dad's room, on his dresser sat four watches, including the Seamaster I got him for his 75th birthday. The other three were ones my dad had worn throughout his career and my grandpa's black dial that my mom had gifted to my dad after my grandfather's passing. My dad had two two-tone quartz Seikos, and the second that I saw them, memories came rushing back. I remember him getting home from city council meetings and throwing the football with me in the backyard with that watch on. I remember going into downtown Salem to get my hair cut at Skaggs Barber Shop after a trip to Powell pharmacy and wrapping things up with lunch at the Malibu. I remember my dad being excited and bummed about some of the choices I made growing up, all while wearing that watch. It didn't mean anything to me at the time. He hasn't worn any of these watches in years and years, but to me, they are a gold mine. A gold mine of memories, of ups and downs and rights and wrongs, lessons that taught me how to be a man. My dad is a GREAT man, and without a second thought, he taught me an incredible amount while wearing those simple quartz Seikos. It's up to me to put those lessons into play, some I have already instilled inside myself, some I’m still learning how to implement.
I asked my dad if I could have one of them, to which he offered to let me borrow. It gave me a chuckle knowing that he hadn't slid one of those on his wrist in more than 10 years, but borrowing was great with me. It's another connection, another memory with my dad. Something I am very fortunate to have, and I will continue to spend as much time with my parents with joy the same way I did with my grandparents, a turkey sandwich, maybe some soup, definitely some Price is Right, and an hour or so of time that is irreplaceable in my memory with people I love.
