Father's Day Memories by Kristen Grimes

I know that the request was for a favorite memory about fathers, seeing how it was just Father’s Day this past weekend; however, I can’t share a favorite memory. It’s not that I don’t HAVE one, because I have many. But for me, the whole idea of “Father’s Day” is not the conventional one.

You see, I never really felt like I had a “father”. When I talk about my dad it is in the sense of talking about an acquaintance or someone you once knew, but not all that well. My dad was absent for pretty much my entire life, and even when he was part of it, it was always on his terms.

But when I think about what a “FATHER” is, I always have the perfect example…he just wasn’t my father – he was my GRANDFather. And I really think they made the term “GRAND” for him. He was outside the realm of a normal father and took on legendary status by adding that GRAND in front of the word.

Some of my earliest memories were seeing my Grandpa drive up and he’d unfold his long legs before reaching over to the seat next to him and grabbing a very simple brown paper bag. But it wasn’t just a brown paper bag and we kids knew that…it was a treasure chest in disguise!! He’d come over to us and give a warm welcome before reaching into that magic bag and pulling out some candy bars. And not just any candy bars – the GOOD STUFF! Full size, full sugar, full flavor…but in reality they were 100% full of love!

And as the years passed, we may not have always been greeted with a bag of candy bars, but that didn’t mean that we weren’t greeted with 100% love. When Grandpa finally “retired” (HA!) in Hemet he would take on little odd jobs just to keep busy. One of those was working the pumps at a Chevron station that just happened to be near our schools. I really think he liked that job so much because it gave him the opportunity to meet so many different people. Back then you still had an attendant at the full service pumps, so he would run on out there and give that person the best care they could ever hope for…and he might have given them a story or two while he was at it! So when we would get off of school, we would “just happen” to pass by the Chevron and sometimes we’d see him, and sometimes we wouldn’t. But if he did happen to be there we could always stop in and say hi and more often than not we would leave with a quarter so we could stop off at Thrifty’s and pick up an ice cream cone. And he always made sure that it was enough to get a double-scooper because we all know that one flavor is just never enough – when there are so many to choose from you need to be able to pick two!

But lest you think every memory I have is about food, I also have others to choose from. When my twins were just babies and working on TV shows in Los Angeles I always needed to have someone with me while we were on set so that while one baby was “working”, someone could remain in the trailer with the other baby. Well, a lot of times Grandpa was my “assistant” and would hang out with one of the girls while I was on set with the other one. I don’t think he really cared all that much about being around “celebrities” or being on set, but what he did love was that there was ALWAYS a huge assortment of food around. Bagels and danishes and fresh fruit…and candy…can’t forget the candy. Oh wait – here I am talking about FOOD again! Hahaha

Okay, okay – this memory won’t be about food, I mean it for reals. ;-) When my family was young we ended up having several periods of time where we were vehicle-less, but yet, we still had responsibilities of work and school and taking care of small children, so we often had to rely on bumming rides off of people. And you know what? There wasn’t a SINGLE time that I requested a ride from Grandpa that he wasn’t there to pick me up. I worked in the X-ray department at the hospital and that required staying open late hours to be on hand for pulling records when the docs needed them, but that also meant that I often worked until midnight. Who do you think would come and pick me up in the middle of the night? Yep, Grandpa. I needed to get the kids to a doctor’s appointment, who would come and pick me up and then wait and take me home again? Grandpa. Robert would get out of school and need a ride home because it was raining, or hot, or whatever. Who would pick him up? Grandpa. Honestly, I could go on and on, but I know you already get the idea.

The real thing I’m trying to say here is that as a father-less child it would have been easy for me to have no concept whatsoever what it meant to be a “good man”. I certainly didn’t have a model of one in my own Father. But what I did have was a GRANDfather – a man that epitomized everything that made a great man, an amazing husband, and a wonderful father. I saw my grandfather “adopt” countless kids that didn’t have a good man in their life either. I saw him constantly set an example to everyone he came across of what it meant to be a good person. Without him I don’t know that I ever would have been able to recognize the traits (that are worth finding anyways!) of a husband, father, man, friend. I know that when my own husband thinks about my Grandpa, he also can say that he taught him what it means to be a husband, a father, a good man. And that’s the thing- he never kept all his goodness to himself…it was always there and on display. It was in a quarter for an ice cream, in a brown paper bag, in a harmonica song played impromptu, in a wave.

Happy Father’s Day, Grandpa! You were the best GRANDfather a girl could ever ask for!!

A Blog joins the family

Hello! Guess what this means? It means Louie and Bernie's bunch has moved out into the world of blogging. This is a place where we can post our stories, past and present. Hopefully it can help us stay in closer contact since we live in so many diverse places. I'm not the best blogger so I'll need everyone to help come up with posts. Currently I'm the only admin so for now posts have to come through me, but if someone wants to co-author this thing....well I just might take you up on that.

First a little business. This blog IS open to the public, just so you know. Please don't leave comments with things like addresses, phone numbers, etc as they will be available to the public.We'll be keeping the family group on fb which is PRIVATE so you can feel free to post addresses, etc. there. I'm going to use my other blog's e-mail address for this site. It gets a lot less traffic so it's less likely that things you send for posting will get lost so if you know my private e-mail please don't use it. Please send posts to craftmearunner @ gmail (dot) com (shove it all together and use a period where it  says (dot) ). I can't wait to hear all the great memories you all have!

Please share this with the non-fb family members! I have very few e-mail addresses so please help me get this out there! Also, if you are in possession of family memorabilia such as journals, photos, letters, etc. please scan those items so we can share them. Don't have the time? That is a task I will take on if you can get the stuff to my house. I'll even get it back to you when I finish. I feel that our family history is an important part of who we are as aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews and cousins, but also as individuals and I hope that this blog can help us spread that history and keep us connected.

So, on that note I get to share first :).

This time of year my thoughts turn to pomegranates. I remember that way back in the corner of the yard of the West Covina  house there was a pomegranate bush. If I remember correctly the bush was actually in Kurt and Vernel's yard (hope I didn't misspell their names too badly), but it grew over the fence and anything on "our" side of the fence was fair game. Those were the yummiest, juiciest, most wonderful pomegranates. I remember one time in particular Grandpa was puttering in his garage with the doors wide open in case a neighbor wandered by and wanted to say hi. I was in the garage with him and he split open a pomegranate and handed half to me. I started chomping down those delicious little jewels, not taking much care of the juice. By the time mom tracked me down I must have looked something like a zombie at Thanksgiving because I can't remember a time before or since that my mom made such a fuss about what I'd done to myself. I think I ruined my shirt and it was some time before my fingers lost the stain of Pomegranate juice. I owe my continued love affair for pomegranates to that bush in the backyard.