He only drove the car for a month, if that. I remember getting to take it for a drive around the block when it was brand new. "Don't eat or drink anything in the car," he said. "Okay, I won't." [I still get pangs of guilt now when I do. Sorry, Grandpa.]
The baseball hat was the only sign he'd been there at all in those weeks. I can't say when exactly it appeared in there, but now I wish I could. I long to recall every detail, to say I savored each moment. But, as it usually goes, I didn't. I wasn't anticipating the years when the details would begin to fade, when I would realize with heartache that I couldn't remember, when pictures wouldn't be enough.
What did his smile look like? What did his voice sound like? What did he do when he was voicing his opinions in true Myslinski fashion?
I know he wouldn't care if I took the baseball hat out, but I still can't do it. I can't even bring myself to replace it because it wouldn't be the same. He was a real fan. I'm more of a fan in theory. And a new one would look nice, but it wouldn't be the one he put there.
He believed in his Chicago teams (but not the White Sox), hot dogs without ketchup. He believed in hard work. Most of all, he believed in love. And love he did to the fullest: his grandchildren, his children, and especially his wife. Family came first, no matter what.
The hat's been in there for 6 years, just a few weeks longer than we've been without him. People have tried to move it and the wind's tried to take it, but I always make sure it makes it back to its home in the back windshield. The number one rule in my car: Don't touch my Cubbies hat.
Some people carry around those they've loved and lost in their memories. I carry my grandpa around in my heart and mind...and in a baseball hat. To some it's just a hat, but to me, it's a reminder of all my grandpa stood for and taught us. It's a reminder to make him proud.
~"When someone you love becomes a memory, the memory becomes a treasure." [-Unknown]~
3 comments:
Great post. I agree with your Grandpa - ketchup on hot dogs is gross! And I'm that dude that wears the same hat every day until A)someone hides it or B)my grandmother washes it and it falls apart. Hats, for some reason, mean more to me than almost anything I own. Maybe it's the sweat and dirt and confusion and sunrises and sunsets they've seen. So, yes, I agree with you keeping the hat in the car.
On another note, whenever I'm trying to remember certain things about Great-Grandpa or Fish, I don't try to remember them specifically. I try to think about a time and a place. Seems to me more things come back that way. I dunno. Give it a shot.
My grandpa's cowboy hat is still hanging on the coat hook at Grandma's. It has that "mountain range" of sweat that Ted Kooser talks about in one of his poems still visible. This is a beautiful post, Michelle.
I loved that picture when I first saw it at the top of this blog post, and love it even more now that I've read what you wrote.
What a beautiful piece.
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