Granddaddy Jake

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My mom always told me I had a little Granddaddy Jake in me. As a child I never understood what she meant. I remember lifting my arms up searching, "Granddaddy, you under there?" Gosh, adults are so ridiculous.

In later years, I learned that this meant I was hard headed, and stubborn. She meant I was strong willed and said exactly what was on my mind. This is not always a good thing, I will add. I think God made me without a filter on my mouth. Before I can do anything, whoops, there goes... Whatever I shouldn't have said  flies right out of my mouth and lands in deadening silence. Trouble follows in close pursuit. Lord, here I am in trouble again. I guess my granddad, had a problem filtering his thoughts for people as well. You could be sure- when talking to either of us- you'd hear our opinion. Whether you asked for our opinion or not, there it is. And we don't believe in sugar coating, either.

One of the reasons I love to bake so much is because my mom always tells me that I look just like my grandma Doris. Well, I don't remember her, but I know she remembers me before she passed away. I was born two months early. Why? No one knows. Of all places, I was born in New Jersey. Shhh...don't spread that around. I don't like people thinking I am from the north. Anyways, two weeks after I was born, grandma Doris passed away. I believe that I was born early just so that she could meet me. That, somewhere, we were destined to have a connection before she passed on. Anyways, my favorite item to bake are oatmeal raisin cookies. I have this really great recipe that I have been using for years now, amongst the family. When I joined the military, my brother was highly upset because no one would be around to make them.

I loved making them for my uncle, but also for my granddad. The cookies just disappear if you put a plate in front of him. When I first started baking cookies for Christmas, one batch was enough. With Brooke's help, now it takes at least two or three.

How is it that when you are a kid, you never want to take naps but as you grow older, you wish you had more time to sleep? Granddaddy loved to take naps. If he wasn't in the kitchen reading, you could be sure to find him dozing on the front porch at the river. One day he was sleeping on the front porch with his mouth wide open. Me, Jon and Aunt Denise put chocolate syrup in his mouth. We were caught chocolate handed.

I used to love sitting with my granddad while he was reading his books. They came in green plastic containers. No fancy book cover, just the title inked in braille. These were books on tape (because my Granddad was blind, if you didn't know). Sometimes I would sit down without him realizing that I was listening. My granddad liked listening to a lot of books about sex. Yeah, I probably shouldn't have been listening. But at a young age, I was fascinated with where books could take you. Most parents filter what children watch on tv, but my parent never filtered what I read. I won't lie, I was a good kid but if I could get my hands on it, I would read whatever I could. Probably more adult books than I was ready for, but hell, Mom was just glad I was reading.

Let's see my Granddad introduced me to fried chicken livers. He prefers his with country gravy. I like mine dry with green beans and mashed potatoes. I loved that my granddad was blind sometimes. I know, that is a terrible thing to say, but how else was I suppose to steal a liver without him looking? Man, I used to get away with murder stealing livers off his plate. If I would have asked, he would have given me some, but it seemed like so much fun the other way.


My granddad passed away while I was underway. I was out to sea using a pay phone to call home.  I remember where I was when I got this sinking feeling. Mom couldn't call me. She could only email. I began calling her more frequently when I heard the news of Granddaddy being sick. I called after seeing an email from Mom that he had passed away. Emails suck. I don't blame mom. She didn't have a choice in the matter. I called and there was nothing more to say.

Its very hard dealing with death out to sea. There was no grief on my part. Things still felt the same. I missed the funeral. I wasn't home for my mom and family. I missed the first Christmas without him. My friends comforted me but it was so surreal. It was like it never happened. I manned the rails about a week after Granddaddy passed away and it was on the flight deck in my dress whites that I truly felt his presence. Granddaddy believed that all young men and women should join the service and do at least four years to get valuable work experience. I think he may have been sad to have never had the opportunity due to his blindness.

He was so proud when I told him I was joining. After coming home for the leave for the first time. He touched my hands and said he knew I was doing great things. He judged a man on how rough their hands were. "If your hands aren't rough, you ain't working. And if you ain't working, you're a sorry man." I live by that still today. As long as you are working, you'll be okay. He used to call me his sailor girl. And it was there on that flight deck that I made the decision to volunteer to man the rails every single port visit for my granddad. Most people hate manning the rails. It consists of standing at parade rest, not talking and getting your whites dirty. But for me, I found my Granddad there. And my name was on the list every time.

When I was a little girl, my granddad (or Mom, I'm not sure) put bells on my shoelaces so my granddaddy could keep up without seeing me. I would run around his apartment and there was no hiding because I was ringing with every step I took. After his death, I attached a bell to my ankle bracelet. It's been on ever since. With each step I take, I jingle. Its easy for me to find my granddad but just in case he can't see from heaven...I know he can hear my bells.

Now that I am home, it's not hard to find his spirit. I find him on the front porch swing at the river. I find him in a red solo cup of tobacco spit. (I try not to look for him there though. He accidentally spit on my shoe when I was seven. And, I don't think I'm over it yet.) I dine with him at the heritage house, and think of him whenever my mouth speaks before my minds thinks. I am stubborn. I am hard headed. And I make life much more complicated that it needs to be. I have a sailor mouth, and I'm rough around the edges, but if anyone is proud, he still is.