Partner in Time
It was such a simple moment with timeless implications. He looked me in the eye in his tool tackled garage and 5 words emerged from his mouth that will forever be imprinted in my sands of time. "Partner...we can fix that."
My Grandfather was a stronger man than most, if not all, if given the chance to prove it. He was a military man that had a fondness for John Wayne. He was smoky strong with a six iron swing as smooth as silk. He was a modern day renaissance man. As a child, I liked to think that he was James Bond on Saturday, Greg Norman on Sunday, and Grandpa Ron on Tuesdays. I have no idea what he did on Monday's, and that will forever be a part of his mystique.
Though I only saw him a few times a year growing up, every moment spent with him seemed to have a lasting impression. He had a smile that could disarm dynamite, and a laugh that was only rivaled by Santa Clause. I miss my Grandfather. I miss the moments that he painted for me. Usually simple and soulful but solid and sweet.
When I was 7, he handed me a hook and line and asked me to thread it. He looked me in the eye and said "Partner, can you thread this for me...My eyes aren't as good as yours anymore?" Looking back today, I know he could see as clearly as the day he sat in his first cockpit, but as a child I only saw the challenge and power he bestowed upon me to thread the hook that would feed the family. I accepted his challenge with vigor, and after 3 or 4 missed marks, the thread landed home and pierced the eye of the haunting hook. My Grandfather looked at me as if I saved his battalion, and handed me a medal of honor in the form of three words..."Good job, partner."
He was my partner in crime. When I was nine, he let me sit in his 1967 Chevy Camaro Z28 and take it for a rev. That morning as I walked into the garage, my eyes locked on the cherry red beast that dwell in the shadows. I still remember smell of the garage that drifted around it. It was cedar and saltwater with a splash of motor oil, all things that fueled the beast. "Cherry Bomb" was her name and her name was fitting. Without even seeing her move, you knew she had the power under her hood that could blow the roof off. She had suttle curves, black high heels, and she was stacked heavy in front. As I stepped into the passenger seat, and shut the door, the silence pressed on my soul. It was longing to feel the power she held within. I looked over at my Grandpa Ron in the driver's seat, and he had a mischievous smile on his face, a gleam in his eye, one hand on the wheel, and one hand on the ignition. With a twist of his wrist, the beast awoke pissed. She roared with discord as the petal hit the floor...yet...she still had more. I'll never forget the sound that awoke my soul. Its power was heard, far from the heart it just stole.
As I grew older, the memories never stopped. He always managed to create moments that have forever been imprinted on my slide show of life that I keep safe in my heart. And when I turn on my projector to relive the memories and moments he painted for me, the last slide is the hardest to relive.
I will never forget the last time I saw him alive. I was 15 years old and Christmas had just passed. We made our usual holiday trip and drove down to see my grandparents. On the way there, I was playing with my new prized possession. It was a silver Adidas watch with a royal blue bezel. It was beautiful. A bit large on my twig of a wrist and slid close to my elbow...but gorgeous. I was excited to show my grandparents my new watch. When we arrived, and my grandparents opened the door, I made sure to wave high and proud with the watch ridden wrist. We walked in and after an hour of recapping our happy holidays over sweet tea and wine, I caught my grandfather staring at my wrist. He walked around the dining table, to the chair I was seated and said, "Jon, come here for a second." I followed him to the tool tackled garage. When we walked in, I glanced around, and the red beast was present and accounted for, as well as the humid cologne of cedar and saltwater. It was dimly lit with the garage door shut, but a lamp was lit up on the pine crafted work bench. I walked beside him as he leaned over the workbench. He reached into a small toolbox on the bench and pulled out a small screwdriver. He then reached over, and put his hand around my watch and slid it off my wrist. When I looked up to his face to see what he was up to, he looked me in the eyes with a soft smile gleaming and said..."Partner...we can fix that."
On January 11, 2001, my Grandfather passed away. I miss our moments...I miss my Grandpa Ron...I miss my Partner.
My Grandfather was a stronger man than most, if not all, if given the chance to prove it. He was a military man that had a fondness for John Wayne. He was smoky strong with a six iron swing as smooth as silk. He was a modern day renaissance man. As a child, I liked to think that he was James Bond on Saturday, Greg Norman on Sunday, and Grandpa Ron on Tuesdays. I have no idea what he did on Monday's, and that will forever be a part of his mystique.
Though I only saw him a few times a year growing up, every moment spent with him seemed to have a lasting impression. He had a smile that could disarm dynamite, and a laugh that was only rivaled by Santa Clause. I miss my Grandfather. I miss the moments that he painted for me. Usually simple and soulful but solid and sweet.
When I was 7, he handed me a hook and line and asked me to thread it. He looked me in the eye and said "Partner, can you thread this for me...My eyes aren't as good as yours anymore?" Looking back today, I know he could see as clearly as the day he sat in his first cockpit, but as a child I only saw the challenge and power he bestowed upon me to thread the hook that would feed the family. I accepted his challenge with vigor, and after 3 or 4 missed marks, the thread landed home and pierced the eye of the haunting hook. My Grandfather looked at me as if I saved his battalion, and handed me a medal of honor in the form of three words..."Good job, partner."
He was my partner in crime. When I was nine, he let me sit in his 1967 Chevy Camaro Z28 and take it for a rev. That morning as I walked into the garage, my eyes locked on the cherry red beast that dwell in the shadows. I still remember smell of the garage that drifted around it. It was cedar and saltwater with a splash of motor oil, all things that fueled the beast. "Cherry Bomb" was her name and her name was fitting. Without even seeing her move, you knew she had the power under her hood that could blow the roof off. She had suttle curves, black high heels, and she was stacked heavy in front. As I stepped into the passenger seat, and shut the door, the silence pressed on my soul. It was longing to feel the power she held within. I looked over at my Grandpa Ron in the driver's seat, and he had a mischievous smile on his face, a gleam in his eye, one hand on the wheel, and one hand on the ignition. With a twist of his wrist, the beast awoke pissed. She roared with discord as the petal hit the floor...yet...she still had more. I'll never forget the sound that awoke my soul. Its power was heard, far from the heart it just stole.
As I grew older, the memories never stopped. He always managed to create moments that have forever been imprinted on my slide show of life that I keep safe in my heart. And when I turn on my projector to relive the memories and moments he painted for me, the last slide is the hardest to relive.
I will never forget the last time I saw him alive. I was 15 years old and Christmas had just passed. We made our usual holiday trip and drove down to see my grandparents. On the way there, I was playing with my new prized possession. It was a silver Adidas watch with a royal blue bezel. It was beautiful. A bit large on my twig of a wrist and slid close to my elbow...but gorgeous. I was excited to show my grandparents my new watch. When we arrived, and my grandparents opened the door, I made sure to wave high and proud with the watch ridden wrist. We walked in and after an hour of recapping our happy holidays over sweet tea and wine, I caught my grandfather staring at my wrist. He walked around the dining table, to the chair I was seated and said, "Jon, come here for a second." I followed him to the tool tackled garage. When we walked in, I glanced around, and the red beast was present and accounted for, as well as the humid cologne of cedar and saltwater. It was dimly lit with the garage door shut, but a lamp was lit up on the pine crafted work bench. I walked beside him as he leaned over the workbench. He reached into a small toolbox on the bench and pulled out a small screwdriver. He then reached over, and put his hand around my watch and slid it off my wrist. When I looked up to his face to see what he was up to, he looked me in the eyes with a soft smile gleaming and said..."Partner...we can fix that."
On January 11, 2001, my Grandfather passed away. I miss our moments...I miss my Grandpa Ron...I miss my Partner.
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