Memories are funny things, don't you think? Why is it we remember some things and not others? The most insignificant things can be burned into our memories for all our lives, and yet we can forget huge details of important events.
My grandfather died when I was eight. I don't have a lot of memories of him. I do remember the love I had for him - he and my grandma were always so fun, and my brother and I loved having them around. But actual memories are few.
I remember he was a tall man. Actually I think he was around 6'2'' - the same as Bubblehead, but his stature is exagerated by the fact that I was little, and always had to look way up to see his face. It's a little strange to think that if he were still around, I would only be 4'' shorter than him.
The strongest memory I have of him is a year when he and Grandma came to visit us for Thanksgiving. We were living in northern Montana then, in a tiny little town, and it was a bit of a journey for them. We were so excited for them to get there, so of course being little kids we were wound up after they arrived - full of energy. I don't remember what my mom had asked of me, or what I was doing, but I apparently didn't want to do what ever it was, and I hid under the dining room table. My grandfather came up to the table and without bending down to look at me said "Do what your mother tells you."
That's it - that's my big memory. "Do what your mother tells you." Sometimes I wonder if there is a reason I remember this so vividly when everything else has faded away. Like maybe this was the one thing he wanted to impart to me - to keep with me growing up after he was gone. I know, that's silly isn't it. But then again - maybe it isn't.
