Sitting in my grandpa’s car as a 10-year-old wearing my neon sash, I started belting out the lyrics to Shaggy’s Angel when we pulled into the parking lot at my school. I was ready to get my shift started as class guard on safety patrol, but my Pawpaw took a moment to explain the song to me.
“You know why this artist’s voice sounds so different?” PawPaw asked me. “That’s because Shaggy is Jamaican.”
I remember thinking how cool it was that the guy’s name was Shaggy, and even better, I was listening to music that was not made in America. It was like I was living under a rock thinking the U.S. was the only place producing these songs.
As the song ended, I was about to burst out of the car to report to duty, but I paused when I noticed a pink pig Beanie Baby laying on the dashboard of the sedan parked next to us. My grandpa sat there listening for 10 minutes as I told him how cute I thought it was and how bad I wanted it.
Then came Christmas Day and I opened a little brown gift box wrapped by Pawpaw. I smiled so big my cheeks hurt when I unwrapped it and saw the pink pig I so desperately wanted.
Seven years later, the little 10-inch pink pig lies on my bed with me every night and reminds me of the little moments that I keep close to my heart. Some nights I’ll see the pig lying flat on my bed and my eyes start to work up tears as I remember I lost the person who helped me lay the foundation to being good. I can’t have those suffocating hugs or hear that belly laugh as I mistakenly call Chick-fil-A, “Chick-a-lay.”
There’s nothing sweeter than having a grandparent who takes the time to know, listen, and help you grow into someone who makes them proud, even if the time left with them is growing short as they age. My Pawpaw nurtured my innocence and made me feel as though I was the most important little girl in the world. That will forever live on in my memory.
My grandpa was so caring, talkative, and creative, and the fact that he died the end of my eighth-grade year makes me feel all shades of bittersweet. He was one of the most important people to me and I looked up to him like a toddler looks up to her parents. Yet after these few years without him, I try to focus on how my morals were altered by his attitude on seeing the best of life.
I remember his wrinkled eyes squinting when he smiled, and when he would laugh, hearing the joy coming from his belly.
I remember how he loved to chat with people, and how the cashier at Wal-Mart would light up when he got in line and struck up another conversation.
Toward the end of his life, I remember when my grandma was in the hospital after a fall, and PawPaw was mostly stuck in his bed at home or tethered to a wheelchair due to his cancer. He was going to either wheel himself in his wheelchair or he was going to catch a ride, it didn’t matter – he had to see her.
Seeing these moments from him taught me to look for the silver lining in all the negative to make the world less bleak, and a way to honor that is to be open-minded, talk to new people like they’re people rather than just passing strangers, and most of all, family is everything, whether it’s blood or not.
Many teenagers miss these lessons and moments due to their “higher” priorities like flirting with each other, whining about teachers, pondering the future or wasting time being captivated by cute cat videos on social media.
Having a relationship with your grandparents, when it’s a blessing, isn’t just knowing their past, but rather, becoming part of who they were because they help lay the foundation for your understanding of right and wrong.
Knowing your grandparents creates a sense of peace and belonging, which can make life feel less isolating and cold.
I know some of my peers don’t have a good relationship with family, and I count myself among them when I think about my dad’s side, especially after the divorce. I always feel out of place when visiting, maybe because I’m the only girl among a half dozen cousins, or because the boys talk about politics, work, and more work, while barely noticing I’m in the room.
I feel sorry for my peers who don’t have a Pawpaw, but rather, only have family that feels like my dad’s side.
Now, yes, there are grandparents who aren’t caring or welcoming, and it might be hard to make meaningful connections with them, especially considering they’re five decades older and sometimes ramble about growing up in a time when a gallon of gas cost a quarter.
Fight through the generational differences, because you are the one winning by seeing the world from their point of view. They are soon to disappear from your life, so steal wisdom, cherish the hugs and laughs, and pay attention to how an elder inspires you to become who you one day hope to be.
After seven years since I ripped open that box with the little pink pig inside, I realize how this gift represents one of countless memories that shaped who I have become because of my Pawpaw — whether that is how I talk to people and keep an open mind, or me yelling at a live broadcast of football, “Move the ball!” to honor my Pawpaw’s Dallas Cowboys.
I realize the power my Pawpaw had.
The innocence in us dies, but those memories of the people who built who we are today with their unconditional love will forever be part of the way we live.