you make me brave
As I enter the week of my grandfather's memorial, I have been thinking more profoundly of all the ways my grandfather has influenced me and my upbringing, my personality and my passions.
I don't think I could, as of now, look at people and say these words, so I am typing them.
When I think of my grandfather, both now and when he was living, I would see the ways my grandfather deeply loved me. It was evident, like sand on a beach. There was no hidden meanings, no mysteries to uncover, no misunderstandings. I was his, and he was mine.
It's easy to see some of the ways he influenced me, especially in sailing. As the patriarch of our family's sailing careers, he paved the way for us all to have the opportunity to be comfortable on boats. I still remember telling him I wanted to sail more competitively and he handed me three physics books on wind and sail directions. He was our foundation, our sounding board.
He looked at things with such an analytical perspective. I marveled at the way he processed a problem and a solution, and practically and efficiently solved it. He was a man who's answer was honest and often the most correct. I often see a lot of him in me, the way I am slightly removed, but still present and contemplating. The way I go about issues with logic and reasoning, utilizing past experiences and knowledge to understand what is at hand.
I have countless memories with him. My earliest reach back to tickle fights and Christmas mornings. He always got me some new technology every year. I don't know if he wanted to remain cool, but I saw him that way. He would explain why he chose that camera or that iPod for me, why it was better than the previous one. He cared that I had the best, and while it wasn't necessary to our relationship, it was a way he showed how deeply he cared. I have more than my fair share of RV trips, where we went to the overcast, eastern part of the state and rode around the back streets on the motor scooters he bought us, or the many trips to myrtle beach.
He was so invested in my college career, and orchestrated a trip to Auburn--more or less to see my cousin, Elizabeth--so I could tour a new school. He planted the seed that would give me the best four years of my life, and as I reflect on that it was the best gift he could have ever given me. He loved his four years at Virginia Tech, and he simply wanted each of us to have that experience. He cultivated a way for me to find the perfect school for me, and Auburn was that, perfect. I am forever grateful for all those hours we drove in the RV and getting lost in the loop in Atlanta that took me to the plains for the first time.
I look back and there are so many things that flood my memory, but I can see his face smiling so wide at me. His goofy-ness was something that made me a better person, more joyful, more carefree, more loved.
It's hard because I lost my best friend. Someone, who presence I not only enjoyed but craved. Someone who completed me. and a huge part of me still feels empty as I try to wrap my head around him entering heaven.
I can't wait for the day where I can look at him face-to-face again, and hear him say "you haven't changed one bit" (what he said every time he saw me once I left for Auburn, usually accompained by "are they teaching you anything down there" or "no I don't want to hear what your GPA is") because I am who i am because of him.
I don't think I could, as of now, look at people and say these words, so I am typing them.
When I think of my grandfather, both now and when he was living, I would see the ways my grandfather deeply loved me. It was evident, like sand on a beach. There was no hidden meanings, no mysteries to uncover, no misunderstandings. I was his, and he was mine.
It's easy to see some of the ways he influenced me, especially in sailing. As the patriarch of our family's sailing careers, he paved the way for us all to have the opportunity to be comfortable on boats. I still remember telling him I wanted to sail more competitively and he handed me three physics books on wind and sail directions. He was our foundation, our sounding board.
He looked at things with such an analytical perspective. I marveled at the way he processed a problem and a solution, and practically and efficiently solved it. He was a man who's answer was honest and often the most correct. I often see a lot of him in me, the way I am slightly removed, but still present and contemplating. The way I go about issues with logic and reasoning, utilizing past experiences and knowledge to understand what is at hand.
I have countless memories with him. My earliest reach back to tickle fights and Christmas mornings. He always got me some new technology every year. I don't know if he wanted to remain cool, but I saw him that way. He would explain why he chose that camera or that iPod for me, why it was better than the previous one. He cared that I had the best, and while it wasn't necessary to our relationship, it was a way he showed how deeply he cared. I have more than my fair share of RV trips, where we went to the overcast, eastern part of the state and rode around the back streets on the motor scooters he bought us, or the many trips to myrtle beach.
He was so invested in my college career, and orchestrated a trip to Auburn--more or less to see my cousin, Elizabeth--so I could tour a new school. He planted the seed that would give me the best four years of my life, and as I reflect on that it was the best gift he could have ever given me. He loved his four years at Virginia Tech, and he simply wanted each of us to have that experience. He cultivated a way for me to find the perfect school for me, and Auburn was that, perfect. I am forever grateful for all those hours we drove in the RV and getting lost in the loop in Atlanta that took me to the plains for the first time.
I look back and there are so many things that flood my memory, but I can see his face smiling so wide at me. His goofy-ness was something that made me a better person, more joyful, more carefree, more loved.
It's hard because I lost my best friend. Someone, who presence I not only enjoyed but craved. Someone who completed me. and a huge part of me still feels empty as I try to wrap my head around him entering heaven.
I can't wait for the day where I can look at him face-to-face again, and hear him say "you haven't changed one bit" (what he said every time he saw me once I left for Auburn, usually accompained by "are they teaching you anything down there" or "no I don't want to hear what your GPA is") because I am who i am because of him.
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