Thoughts on a Wonderful Grandfather

Grandpa by Peter

i have many great memories of time spent with grandpa. playing football, going to pistol pete's for pizza, skee ball, getting my haircut, running through his sprinklers and of course eating pancakes. he made the most unbelievable pancakes. but my fondest memory of grandpa is when he lived in las vegas. i was about 5 or 6 and would go there to visit often. time seemed to stand still during those summer visits. it was so great, and we had so much fun. i don't remember to many specifics, days or events, only a few, but one in particular has stayed with me. grandpas house had a small fenced in back yard and around the perimeter, against the fence, there was a small garden with flowers and plants growing in it. one afternoon grandpa took me to the garden store so i could pick out something to plant. when we got there i decided in all my wisdom and knowledge of climates, to plant a pine tree in his backyard in the middle of the hot dry desert. it was about 18 inches tall, dark green, and had the most perfect cone shape. when we got back to the house grandpa and i planted the small tree in the garden directly across from the glass back door, so that when you looked out you could see it. i haven't seen our pine tree since that summer, but i think about it often, and when i do, i always think about grandpa too. i hope our tree is still in that garden growing big and tall and strong. i know that having this memory of planting that tree, has made my love and respect for grandpa grow big and tall and strong. there isn't a grandpa in the world who was more fun, more caring, more devoted, or more loving than him. i miss him dearly, and my respect and love for him and his life, grows bigger and taller and stronger everytime i think about our little pine tree.


Elisabeth's Memories

Besides the fact that Grandpa had a squishy thumb, due to an accident in the Steel Mill, he was the only person in the world that could call me Lizzie and I wouldn't get mad.

Most of my memories of Grandpa revolve around food. Grandpa always got us chocolate milk. In fact, the only time we ever got chocolate milk was when Grandpa was around.

Grandpa loved strawberry ice cream. I never liked strawberry ice cream, not in the least bit, but when Grandpa was sitting right next to me strawberry ice cream tasted great.

With years of experience peeling apples, Grandpa was an expert at making apple pies. Every time he would remind me that the only way to make an apple pie was to use the sour green ones, simply because they were his favorite. Of course now, the only way I will ever be able to make an apple pie would be with the sour green ones, because they are my favorite too.

Lastly, everybody knows that Grandpa makes the best Mickey Mouse pancakes, you could ever taste. Although I never got my requested Minnie Mouse pancake, I still looked forward very much to the pancakes he would make.

Grandpa was so full of life and always so fun to be around. He will be missed but soon we will be united and maybe we'll sit at the counter and have a nice bowl of strawberry ice cream.


Anna's Memories

Grandpa was tender and kind, but he was also a bit of a rascal. This is how some of our conversations went when I was a little girl: I'd ask, "Grandpa, where's Grandma?" He'd look at me seriously and say, "She broke her leg and we had to shoot her." Fortunately, after a few times I realized that he was teasing me.

When ever I was about to take my first bite of anything, he'd grab the spoon and take a big bite and I'd say, "Hey! That's mine!" And he'd reply, "I know, I just had to make sure it was good enough for you."

Sometimes Grandpa would lean down and peer at me, and in his best James Cagney voice say, "You dirty rat, you killed my brother." This was confusing at the time.

One time I asked him, "Grandpa, how did you get that hole in your back?" And he answered gravely, "I was shot in the war." This left me wide eyed thinking, "How scary and brave." My little sister said Grandpa once asked her if she'd seen his belly button, and when she said "no", he showed her the hole in his back. I've since found out that the real reason for the hole was that as a young boy Grandpa had suffered a serious lung infection, and the "hole" or scar was where they removed half of his lung. But if he told you a different story I'd love to hear it.

We all remember his songs and his voice. He had a talent for making up silly songs on the spot, and for singing love songs, like... ..."Roses are red my dear, violets are bloo--oo--oo--" or..."There once was a lady from Wheeling, who slipped on a banana peeling..." or my personal favorite, which he made up for me..."Anna Banana is a sweet little girl, she'll sing and dance and she'll give you a twirl, she'll tell you "hi" on the telephone, but she never, never, wants to be alone."

He is Grandpa to me always. He was a man of noble spirit, who cherished all of us. We should continue to cherish each other in this life, and as my wise little sister Elisabeth reminded me, "We will meet Grandpa again in the twinkling of God's eye."


THE WHITE SHOES
by my brother Jon Howard Marple

From my earliest memories my father was always my hero. It was 1943. I was just three years old and my father was going off to Germany and France to fight in the Great War. My early recollections of Dad are pictures of him in his army uniform and pictures from far away places. He was bigger than life to me. If he could defeat the "Germans" practically by himself, he could certainly solve my problems. (We later learned that "Willie Jack" was more of a lover than a warrior, as he put it, but that is a different story for another time.) So it was that my early memories were of pictures and letters.

He finally came home in 1945. I was five and in the first grade at elementary school in South Columbus. The joy that the war was over and our fathers, sons, and loved ones were coming home was overwhelming -- even for a five-year-old. My anticipation was more than I could possibly contain, better than birthdays and Christmas rolled into one.

We knew that his train would be coming in soon, but didn't know when. I think they just loaded the trains with as many returning soldiers as the train could hold and then just took off.

I stayed up but couldn't stay awake. The next thing I knew, I felt myself being lifted into his strong arms and seeing this beautiful, handsome man that was my dad. His army uniform was rough and smelled like a wonderful mix of adventure, travel, and cigarette smoke from the train. It was the best feeling I had ever had. My dad was home to provide and protect and solve all of our problems.

And did I have a serious problem, which I quickly laid out to him. This problem was my first public embarrassment, totally humiliating. If this problem couldn't be solved quickly I really didn't know how I could continue with my education.

Dad asked, "What's the problem, Jon Howard?"

I gave him the grave news: "It's mother. She sent me to school in white shoes."

In those days of war, buying shoes for children was a major investment; it took all of a paycheck. My mother, well meaning of course, dressed me in white shoes and clothing that was probably more to her taste than mine. But there I was, wearing white shoes -- me, a boy whose greatest joy at school was playing ball at recess! Didn't she understand that the girls wore white shoes and the boys wore brown?

My dad's first task, then, was dying those white shoes brown. Now he had a happy son ready to go back to school.

Dad really was a hero. He had won the war and got me my manly brown shoes.

Thanks for that Dad and all the other wonderful, marvelous things you did for all of us.