Today would've been my Grandpa's 81st birthday.
But... Grandpa left this world almost 25 years ago (two weeks from tomorrow, I believe, is the anniversary of his passing).
I've been thinking about Grandpa all day.
All the baseball games he took me to - I remember going to see the Cincinnati Reds play at Riverfront Stadium, as well as going to see my uncle Hump play at different ball fields in the city).
I remember that Grandpa loved to eat candy corn, and would always give me and my cousin Amber candy corn when we were little; to this day, I CAN'T STAND candy corn.
I remember his car. Grandpa drove an old Mercury "something" (I can't recall the year or model, but remember that it was a Mercury). It was green, and it was comfortable. The seats felt like an old comfy couch.
I remember sleeping in the bed with him and my Granny when I was little. I remember loving to see my Granny and Grandpa together.
Then, I remember not seeing my Grandpa as much. When my Granny still stayed at the top of 13th Street, I remember Grandpa stopping by and giving me and Amber money. He'd talk to Granny for a few, then he would leave. At that age, I didn't understand what it meant to be separated.
I remember going to visit Grandpa. He moved to an apartment on Kemper Avenue behind the Walnut Hills Kroger. I loved going to see Grandpa.
I remember my mother telling me, when I was nine-and-a-half, that my Grandpa was sick, that he had lung cancer. I didn't know what cancer was. I remember asking when he was going to get better. She told me that he wouldn't get better.
I remember the last time I saw my Grandpa alive. My Daddy took me and my younger brothers over to his apartment - the one on Kemper Avenue behind Kroger. He had an oxygen tank next to him, and the tubes in his nose. I remembered being intrigued by the oxygen tank.
I remember my Granny calling Grandpa; it was a month before he passed away. I remember my Granny asking him if he wanted her to come and cook him breakfast. I remember that they were laughing, and it was a pleasant conversation, from what I could tell.
I remember my Aunt Biddy waking me up one morning in July. She was at my bedside, and she was like, "Jonathan, wake up!" I woke up. I can't recall exactly how she told me, but she told me that Grandpa died. I cried. I remember she trying to comfort me and telling me not to cry. Then, I remember my Momma being in the doorway, and her telling my aunt to just let me cry. I remember that my mother's face was tear-streaked as well.
I remember not wanted to eat or play. No one else remembers me being that way in the week between his death and his funeral, but I remember.
I remember the funeral. I remember looking in the coffin, and saying to myself (and later, to my mother and aunt) "I didn't know Grandpa had a moustache." I also remember meeting my great-aunt from Baltimore and I remember my Granny and my great-aunt from Georgia crying over some flowers (and Grandpa too, I hope).
I remember my Momma driving his car; I guess he left the car to her or something. I loved that car. But, we didn't have it long - something went wrong, and they junked it or something (Hey, I was only 10 when all this was going on).
Everytime something important happened in my life, I remember that Grandpa isn't there. It pains me a little that he didn't get to see me graduate from elementary school, high school, nor college. He didn't get to see me grow up.
He never got to hear me preach. I single this particular "missed experience" out because my aunts tell me that Grandpa used to tell everybody that I was going to be a preacher when I grew up, because I always ate chicken and liked to talk. I don't remember ever hearing him say that, but I wondered what his response would be if he lived to see it happen.
Of course, I've heard many things about my Grandpa from other family members, and friends of the family. Some of their recollections were warm, others were cool, and others were down-right outlandish. But, I thank God that I have my own memories, my own experiences with him, my own love for him, my own pain over missing him.
I miss that I didn't have a Grandpa to go to during my teenaged years. During that time, both my fathers weren't really around, and I believe that having him around may have made a difference in my outlook on life and myself.
I miss that I didn't get to have more conversations with him. Despite my love and memories, most of what I know is via third parties (my grandmothers, aunts, uncles, cousins, etc). At the same time, Grandpa's absence did make me determined to have more moments with my Granny, and my parents.
Well, I don't have much else to say about Grandpa John Henry Clark, Sr. I miss him, yet I thank God for the 10 years I had with him, and I hope that he knew the impression that he left on my life.
