My grandparents.

​When I think about my grandparents, I have four different types of memories. 


I only visited my Grandma Sutton a few times a year. My earliest memory of her is at my dad’s childhood home. I’m sitting in the kitchen listening to my mom and my grandma talk. I’m not sure what they were talking about because I heard adults talking to each other like adults on Charlie Brown specials. Waaah, waaa, wa, Waah, wa. There was a pitcher pump inside the kitchen. She gave me a container of strawberry yogurt from the 60’s style refrigerator. I’ve always liked strawberry yogurt. I can hear her voice, but there’s not many specific memories. 


I never got to meet my grandpa Sutton. I feel like I knew him, though. I’ve heard stories about him since I was very little. Recently I’ve written down several of them before I forget them. I’ve got so many questions I would like to ask him, but I can’t. I rely on what my aunt and my dad have told me. My grandpa Townsend told me my grandpa Sutton carried a pipe wrench at all time he worked at Stokely’s as a maintenance man. The wrench twisted in his pocket and hung there. Grandpa Townsend was amazed that it stayed there without falling out. I have that wrench. 


My grandma Townsend is a background image around her house. There was always someone at grandma’s house that captured my attention when I was there. Unfortunately, specific memories are few and far between. Cooking, cleaning, and watching TV in the background are how I remember her. The one sentence I can hear clearly is what grandma said after grandpa teased her.  “Oh, Jim!” She’d say. 


My grandpa Townsend has the deepest roots in my memory of the four. I can pull up jokes, advice, and stories. My first memory of my grandpa is me sitting on his lap as he drew a watch on my arm. In his lifetime, he probably drew hundreds of them on his grandchildren and great grandchildren. I’ve written down dozens of memories, but more pop up as I get older. I write them down as I have them. 


I share those memories when I have them. Sometimes my family builds on those memories. Sometimes I just bring a smile to their face. My proudest moment so far? I had an article published about my grandpa swatting flies in REMINISCE magazine. 


A woman who lived in Pennsylvania called me and thanked me for sharing my memory with her. She said it brought back memories of her grandfather. It had been more fifty years since her grandfather had passed, but my memories pulled hers to the surface. 


All she had was my name and the town I lived in to go on. She somehow found my number without the internet or a smartphone. She must have requested a Peru, Indiana phone book from her local library. We talked for twenty minutes. I was so surprised and delighted by her call that I never asked her name. I’ll never forget her call, but I’ll never know her name.

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