“Don’t throw the rocks in the pond!” was a common thing I heard around my grandfather’s house when I was a little girl. He HATED when I threw rocks in the pond and made sure that I knew that he was NOT happy about it! But as a young child I couldn't help but be amazed at how one rock could affect a whole pool of water with every ripple it made. (The big ones were the best!)
Growing up, I was, and still to this day, terrified of heights. Yet every summer I would anticipate running and jumping into that big pond of his that he built for all of us to enjoy. I am not sure if I was really excited to swim in the pond with the “slime” at the bottom and all of his fish swimming around it or if it was just the great joy that it brought him to see someone enjoying his pond. He was very proud of that pond. So I would put my bathing suit on and run out back with a knot in my stomach. Grandpa would already be out there, since his back yard was his favorite place to sit. He would sit and enjoy watching me enjoying what he created for that very purpose. The knot in my stomach would remain until I heard those dreaded words.”Hey Kristy! Why don’t you go down the slide?!” and every time he asked I would remind him of how I was afraid of heights. “Awww common!” he would say as he threw up his hands. All that I wanted to do was to please him and to make him proud, so I did. I would climb up that ladder as slowly as possible, to only delay the inevitable. By the time I reached the top I was clinging on for dear life and in tears because I knew that I would disappoint him if I came back down and if I kept climbing it meant facing my fear. Either way I was very afraid! Well, he always won, as he seemed to have a way of doing, and got his way. I would climb up those steps through the tears and go down that slide. By the time my head was popping up out of the water I could already hear the cheers and the clapping. He was so proud of me! He would say, “See it wasn't that bad,” (even though it had probably taken me twenty minutes to climb up that ladder.) He would then say “See you did it!”… “Now do it again!” to which I promptly stated, “No” as I grabbed my towel to dry off. His response was to throw his hands up and shake his head at me. But he got me to do it.
But then there were times that I did nothing but be his date to breakfast and he was so proud of me. He was prouder than any man than I have ever known, for he displayed it proudly across his chest. His shirt read “Kristy’s Grandpa” and he would wear it when we would go up to have breakfast at Longo’s where my grandma was working. I was indeed his first little girl as I was not only the first granddaughter, but I was the first girl to come along after raising three boys.
He shared with me his love for his dog Tina. In all essence she really was my first dog, as well as my first loss. He made sure to bring her over to visit with me before I got on the school bus the day he took her to have her put down because he knew that she would not be there when I got home from school that day and that I would be as sad as he was to see her go. To this day grandpa has always made sure that when the Christmas decorations come out of storage that the little doghouse ornament with Tina’s name on it is set aside for me to hang on the tree when I come to his house. He was always so excited to tell me that he had it sitting there waiting for me before I could even get into the door. It brought him joy to watch me find the perfect place to hang it, as we shared that love for her still.
Another love of our lives was my grandmother. They always say that you marry your father, well, I married my grandfather. And through that my grandmother and I share a common bond. We have laughed at the similarities between the two and how much they have in common. I look forward to remembering him now every time my husband asks me for a glass of water or calls to me saying, “Hey Babe” like he would say, “Hey Gin” to my grandmother.
I had the honor and privilege to be the last person to visit him. We talked about all of his grandchildren, and his brothers and sisters who all live out of state and how they were thinking about him and said to tell him that they loved him. He told me that he was thinking about them too and how he loved them. He told me to tell my husband to deal out the cards that he was ready to play a hand. He told me how he couldn't wait to see his great grand babies and to be at home sitting in his chair with grandma by his side.
I told my grandfather, only hours before he passed, that we will have to throw rocks in the pond with the kids this summer. To that comment he smiled and nodded in agreement. Because you see, he HATED me throwing those rocks in the pond and, as I said, would reprimand me for doing so. But every year on my birthday he would give me a bucket of rocks. And even if there was still a pile of gifts to be opened I would take off to the pond with my bucket of rocks. Because no matter what was in those packages, that bucket of rocks was my favorite gift of them all. For on my birthday, and my birthday alone, I was allowed to throw not one but that whole bucket of rocks into HIS pond.
As a young child I couldn't help but be amazed at how one rock could affect a whole pool of water with every ripple it made. Grandpa was one of those rocks in my life. That one rock made SO many ripples and that is one of the greatest gifts. Every time I throw a rock in the pond, Grandpa, I will think of you and all of the ways that you changed the waters of my life. And this summer, for my birthday, the kids and I will decorate your pond with ripples and rocks.
“Never take someone for granted,
Hold every person close to your heart,
Because you might wake up one day and realize that you've lost a diamond
while you were too busy collecting rocks.”
God speed
Love,
Grandpa’s Kristy
