My Pop-Pop, Buck as he was affectionately called by his friends, and my Grandmother, was the most amazing person that I have ever met. I can not even begin to describe the love that he had for his family. The laughter that he induced, caused me to cry, and my stomach to hurt. He thoroughly enjoyed jumping out from behind doors, and closets and scaring the living shit out of me... and sometimes Grammy too, but she would then chase him around the house with a broom, threatening to beat him until he couldn't sit down. I would fall down on the ground out of shear terror, and then collapse into a fit of laughter.
As I grew up, I only grew closer to him. He picked me up from school every single day until I was old enough to stay home alone. He helped me with school work, but mostly just wanted me to hurry up and finish so that we could go and get ice-cream. He introduced me to Benny Hill, Get Smart, Dragnet, Welcome Back Kotter, and his favorite -- Andy Griffith (I can hear him whistle the theme song, right now).
Tears are streaming down my cheeks as I write this. It's only been two years since he passed, and my heart still aches when I remember that he isn't alive.
When I got into high school, I would walk through the door of my house, and not two minutes later the phone would ring. It was always Pop-Pop, making sure that I got home safe from school, and a lot of the time he would follow up with... "Let's get some pizza", or "How about I take you shopping?" The man would have sold the last thing that he owned to keep me happy. He spoiled me, like I was the only little girl that ever mattered. I know now, why. He and my mom, were so close. Best friends, and I was my mom's only daughter. It was the connection. It was holding on to his little girls for as long as he could. Only after becoming a parent did I come to understand that.
We'd waltz through Tyson's, and in an hour spend $300 like it was nothing. Then scarf (one of his favorite silly words), some Luciano's pizza, where he would leave the waitress 30 bucks, on a 30 dollar bill because "she was nice, and well -- I'm sure she has bills like everyone else!" I remembered that line frequently when I was behind the bar. And, you know what -- it happens more often then you think.
But, to top off the spoiling, he's always slip me a $50 when I got out of the car. "Don't tell your mother! and for God sake's don't tell your Grandmother! They'll kill me!!" but, he didn't care. He was grateful to have the time with me. And, I worshiped that man. No one else could tell me that I needed a B rather then a C in biology. And, when it came to boys, if Pop-Pop didn't like them, they were out the door.
When Mom passed, he crumbled. The man fell apart. It hurt me as much to see him in such agony, as it did losing my best friend, my mother. The whole family fell apart. My grandparents clung to each other. I clung to anything/anyone that I could find, and my Dad... kinda left. It was weird. Very strange, and painful.
I look back, and I realize that is when Pop-Pop got sick.
I've had so many doctors tell me that you can't develop Alzheimer's from a traumatic experience, etc.etc.bullshit.bullshit. HOWEVER, the man was smart as a whip, have never even smoked a cigarette, let alone had a cavity... and WHAM! He doesn't know what the hell is going on, and it just slowly got worse. Until, Grammy couldn't take care of him. He lived the remaining 3 years of his life at Soldiers and Airmen home on Georgia Ave. As sad as it was to see so many of our greatest hero's, weakened... I was so damn proud of every single one of them. I actually enjoyed listening to the stories.
Before Pop-Pop got sick... he told the best stories.
"It was D-Day plus 5", he'd say... "And, we took shelter inside an abandoned Dairy, because those fucking krauts (excuse me for a moment, gotta tell the story true to form) were shelling us... and a GOD DAMN shell landed smack dab in a vat of milk, and broke the son of a bitch! we were slipping and sliding, or rifles were locking up, and we stunk like sore milk for a week!" I always laughed my ass of at that one.
He never spoke about the Silver Star that was awarded for... "in the absence of a commissioned officer, Warrant Officer Barbee took command of the company, recognized it during a severe enemy attack, and personally moved a machine gun from under heavy fire. Thereafter, he moved fearlessly about under hostile fire until an officer arrived to command the company." - Generals Orders
He also never spoke of the two Bronze Stars that he'd been given, or of either of the purple hearts. He was just doing a job, he would say... "and those bastards, well -- there job was to kill me... and I wasn't gonna let that happen, 'cause Shanny, my girl, you wouldn't be here if I hadn't have made it!" And, that was true, as my mother arrived 10 years after he returned home from War.
He survived, not only The landing at Omaha Beach on D-Day, which was the bloodiest of all the beaches that the Allied troops landed on... but, he survived St. Lo, Bastone, and three other major campaigns during the European theatre. He was lucky enough to be decorated, and had enough points to come home, when the Germans' surrendered.
My mom used to cry when she heard taps, amazing grace, the star spangled banner, America the beautiful, even... I'll be home for Christmas... anything that reminded her of how proud she was of her daddy. She passed it on to me. I cry for every solider that has fought for this country... every airmen, marine, and sailor. I weep for their families, and those that they loved... and had to leave.
We are the free country that we are today because of those that came before us.
My grandparents grew up in Tinleytown during the 20's, survived the depression, survived WWII, survived raising two children, three grandchildren, numerous heartaches, including losing their youngest daughter, my mother... and still lived the happiest, most plentiful life that I have ever witnessed.
My grandmother, who has my heart, is still kickin' it. Driving where ever she has to go, and taking great care of herself. She's a funny fucking woman, and she'll tell you how it is. I know she misses my Pop-Pop a hundred times more then I do. They were married 64 years, and except for the war -- they spent as much time together as possible.
I know that this has been a bit of a ramble, but with today being D-Day, I know that my Granddad is in heaven telling the same hilarious stories about his 25 year journey through the Army, and how his best friend was the Chief of Staff (the fam. still gets cards from Gen. Wickham), he was so proud of his country, and his family. He never missed a dance recital, or a softball game.... and I can only imagine, how spoiled Connor and Marleigh would have been.
To all of the men that lost their lives on this solemn day, Thank you for my freedom... and to all those that serve us today.
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