So I’ve been sitting here, now, for several weeks, procrastinating on an assignment. Yes, I thought I was done with that when I graduated, too.
I need to find away to express my grandparents, capture their personalities in a few words and phrases.
This shouldn’t be hard, after all, I’ve known them both my entire life. A couple pages about them should be easy; this is what I was trained to do.
In the weeks we’ve spent planning this party, I’ve heard stories, looked at pictures, and dug through the memories, mine and those of the rest of the family, and I’m struck by something:
Do I really KNOW these people?
My mental images of Grandma, the cheerful lady with a frenetic energy, making sure everyone has something to eat and drink no matter the time of day; of Granddad, the patriarch who’d sit back, glasses perched on his nose, reading some thick volume on some foreign and incomprehensible subject (well, to my Gen Y sensibilities, anyway); of both of them discussing politicians like they’re old friends (which is not outside of he realm of possibility), declaring each new grandchild as the absolute cutest kid they’ve ever seen, were what were running through my head when Uncle John asked me if I could design the invitation. I set off to raid their photo albums with a lot of curiosity, not realizing the surprise that waited.
The photo booth couple on a date in college, cheeks pressed together closer than even the tiny space called for. The fifties bombshell lounging on the beach in a white bathing suit. The telegram from “Rufus”, politely requesting Judy’s permission to take her to dinner Sat. nght. The wide, goofy grin of the new groom, posing with his parents and his bride, fifty years ago.
Now, I’m a total sucker for old pictures. They hold a sense of mystery, a promise of stories you haven’t heard yet. This black and white twenty-something man is the same person who put down a flagstone path when I complained about the gravel driveway at he beach hurting my feet. His girl is the woman who clucked when she saw my tattoo at graduation and told me I’d have to wear socks when I got older. This is the man who made all the animals at the beach move the same way, “hippity hoppity, hoppity hippity”. This is the woman who took the time to hand-sew a quilt for each of her multitudinous grandchildren, giving each and every one a subtle, personal touch.
And Mom tells me she picked a new craft every month, and that he would walk around all summer in a beard and a bathing suit, affecting a Southern accent when he had to place business calls.
These are people who’ve seen everything worth seeing in the world, but always find a new place to go for the winter.
The pictures, the anecdotes, and the memories are finally starting to add up. I’m finally starting to see the whole story of their lives together, of their personalities.
And I’ve only just started to crack the surface.
So here’s to many more years of pictures, anecdotes, and memories, so us foolish grandkids can keep learning what fabulous people Charles and Judy Mahaffie really are.
back to the archives
