Changing Perspectives Part One08:14 Mar 02 2009
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I’d like to uphold my self-image as a thinker-type individual. It takes time for me to process things. Sometimes my journal entries, a reply to a message, or other such things flow through my fingers with ease and quickness. For the most part, however, these things and/or events that have happened in my life it seems to take hours, days, years for me to figure out how to express any number of web-tangled thoughts and emotions. The particular one I intend to speak about now, has taken 11 years to break free from my soul.
There once was a man to whom I gave, and still do to this day, much of my respect and whole-hearted love. This man was the very much deserved inspiration for everything I’ve done and a considerable influence to the woman that I’ve become. He’s the reason I began and pursued many of the talents I seem to possess. He made it possible for me to care about anything/anyone more than myself. The integrity, determination, and my continuing preservation of wisdom to see past anything or anyone’s flaws to them as they are, I owe devotionally to him. Our bond could never … can never be broken. This man, was my grandfather. February 22, 1998, he was taken from this world to the Great Unknown that awaits us all.
I remember everything we used to do together as a kid whenever we had the chance to visit. They were all simple things; things everyone might do every day, whether they recognize it or not. Daytime activities would usually include : going to the park, him with his video camera; fixing things, with me as his little helper, around the apartment complex he managed; running errands around town or toy store trips, with me always riding shotgun; or even just hanging around the complex while playing little outdoor games like flying kites or that four-handled-two stringed-‘zip line’-contraption that I can’t remember the name of at the moment.
When the sun would begin to set, in that picturesque-Texas horizon, after supper, he and I would first do all the dishes from throughout the day. After we finished, evenings were filled with: watching the Home Shopping Network in the sitting room while I played with my new toys; me sitting on the floor in front of him on the floor as he sang and strummed out tunes on his old acoustic guitar; and many, many games of Run-me which usually lasted very far into the night. Lol, once, I had actually won a game by a whole 5 points! Grandpa, of course, wanted a rematch, and through all my hard earned efforts, he won that round by of about 200 points. After that, I had never come remotely close to see my small victory return, nor to think of it more than just a fluke occurrence.
The bond took no rest when we weren’t face-to-face either. Whenever we were apart, no matter what the duration of absence had been, we remained in touch through letters. Simple conversations always ensued, “How’s life? What have you been up to this week?”, and other things of that context. There was always something else that accompanied our chit-chat back and forth. Another piece of paper, containing a little game we made up. On this plain white piece of paper, we took turns in drawing a series of lines, curves, or squiggles. At first, we would have no idea what the outcome would look like, and that was always a major part of the fun. I could always count on the fact of feeling excited and was overwhelmed with anticipation for the next letter to arrive. Heh, I don’t think anyone else checked the mail, at least not unless it came while I was in school, for the better part of a few years. Although, if my memory serves me correctly, if a letter came and I wasn’t home yet, Mom would be sure to leave it in the box for me to pick-up. Usually, our joint-efforts mad very silly pictures; but sometimes, our creations could be considered as beautiful pieces of abstract. Then, whenever we were both satisfied, we would start another.
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