My Grandpa was a jolly, old Badger with a wonderful wit and a lovely flavor for bluegrass music. His father was full-blooded Choctaw and a translator for the Oklahoma court system. He was also quite a drinker-though my grandfather did not follow his example. He was a strong bull of a man in his day and he always tried to make good choices for his family. He was extremely creative at making a simple living; he and my grandmother came from a generation that never really wanted, or wanted for anything, save for their family to have enough to eat, and to be happy. He never, ever forgot a kindness, including the burrito I made him for lunch when I was 11 years old. He was our peanut-farming patriarch and he is the reason why I believe so much in the idea of family.
As I sift through my reservoir of memories, it's the things my sweet Grandpa said that stand out the most. Sentimentality seemed difficult for him, though he made the most sincere go of it.
"I love you, Grandpa."
"I do you, too."
"See you later, Grandpa."
"Come here and hug my neck."
His old, familiar diction imprinted me for life. He was surely a creature of habit. As soon as he was finished with breakfast, he'd ask about what time supper would be and...what do you think we'll have? He was the last to leave the table, chewing on a chicken bone and stuffing a biscuit and bacon sandwich in his pocket for later. He taught me what to say if you want to pull your mule team to the right or to the left. He told the very same stories again and again, to our delight and rolling eyes. I love the way his children humored him and he always delivered the jokey goods. He once poured freezing cold water on my Grandma while she showered-his pranks were sometimes more fun in the telling than in the moment.
He was a Badger, storymaking...keeping our family fat on memories of history as he recounted it.
He sat in his worn out chair, in their last days in California, humming gospel songs and slipping in a Hank Williams now and again, to my grandmother's shaking head and wagging finger. In fact, he suggested I rename my dog Blue Audrey so that I would have a pair like the real Hank and his wife. Except that in his Oklahoma drawl, he pronounced it "Ardrie".
Ivy and I will make the journey back to the the homeland tomorrow, along with my dad, to pay our respects, to slip a little travellin' medicine into his time machine, revisit some more memories, and to love on Grandma.
Grandfather Sun, I listen to your teachings.
I feel your guidance.
Your warmth fills me.
You make me grow unshakeable in spirit and mind.
Aho.
Mitakuye Oyasin.
On the other side, then.
