PawPaw and Caleb, April 2009My grandfather passed away today.
It was of nothing specific, as far as I know. Just an accumulation of the ailments that come with 83 years of life.
Eighty-three years. That's a good life.
He lived to see his three children - two daughters and a son - graduate high school, earn college degrees, get married, and have children of their own. He has seven grandchildren (and five grandchildren-in-law?) and 10 great-grandchildren. One of those great-grandkids was born on his birthday just a few weeks ago and shares his name.
When I think of my PawPaw, I think of a man who was larger than life. He has a legacy built on stories from my mother, aunt and uncle that made him more of a legend. He was like a roustabout version of Paul Bunyan.
Mom tells stories of PawPaw crawling under their house in Andrews with a shotgun to kill rattlesnakes. Or driving around in a old pick-up, his kids unrestrained and hanging on to what ever they could grab, while hunting rabbits.
He retired after 48 years with Conoco (yep - 48 years). When I visited my Grandma and PawPaw in Levelland, I remember the smell of coffee, bacon and toast snaking through the bedrooms at the terrible hour of 5 a.m. Grandma got up every morning and made breakfast for my PawPaw before he went to work. When he got home in the afternoon, he would immediately sit in his recliner with a newspaper and turn to the TV to some kind of sport - NASCAR, basketball, baseball - it didn't matter. Soon after, he dozed off. But as soon as Grandma attempted to turn the volume down or turn the channel, he woke up and would always say, "I'm watching that!" She, in turn would say, "No you're not! You're asleep!"
I always loved their "we've been together for a half-century" bickering.
He worked in his wood shop during his spare time, building all sorts of furniture and knickknacks for his children and grandchildren. For my college graduation, he built a dinner table - the same table that currently sits in my kitchen. I plan to hang on to that forever.
He was a tough man. When I was in fifth grade, he crushed both of his ankles after he fell off a church roof while installing an air-conditioner. He managed to crawl to his truck and drive himself to the hospital. I can still picture him crawling around the house in the months after, casts up to his knee. He refused to sit in that wheelchair.
He has left our world, but not without making an impact. My brother looks just like him. He saved a man's life during our family reunion at Possum Kingdom once. He's passed on his love of woodworking to his children and grandchildren.
As for me, I will always remember his smile. It was a sly smile - you never knew what he was thinking behind it. You never knew when he was going to come tickle your knees, or give you a wet willy.
He was the strongest man I knew.
