Wednesday, August 11, 2010

The Patriarch

Tonight while running a three miler, I ran past two older gentlemen shooting the breeze in my neighborhood. As I approached them, I smiled at the easy way they talked and laughed while petting the adorable puppy that one of them was walking.
I bowed my head in greeting as I ran past them huffing and puffing. One of them must have been wearing cologne or vintage soap because the smell that overwhelmed me was the scent of my Great Grandaddy Sam.
I was immediately filled with the memories of the years with the wonderfully sweet soul that was my mother's paternal grandfather. . .

He constantly collected dimes, so that when each grandchild and great-grandchild was born, he could give them a five dollar roll.

He visited the "old folks" at the nursing home at the young age of ninety.

He would sit and talk for hours all while patting his hands softly on the arm of the leather chair in which he sat.

And he was the kindest man that I believe I have ever known.
One to truly be admired.

When I turned twenty-one, my mom asked me to come home and celebrate my birthday with him. Our birthdays were a mere three days and seventy years apart.
I remember pouting because I wanted to stay in Athens and "party" with all of my friends.
My mother said softly, "One day you'll be grateful that you came home for this."

She was right.

Based on my hair color, I am twenty-two and Grandaddy Sam is ninety-two in this photo.

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