Happy birthday, Grandpa

Though most of the dates this month bring up memories of last year, June 16 has always held positive connotations for me. 110 years ago today, my grandfather, Cloyce Emerald Sides, was born.

Sandy didn't have a chance to know her grandparents like
I knew mine, but here she is with her great-grandmother,
called Grammy by everyone in the family .

He died nearly twenty years ago, at the age of 91, but Alzheimer's had stolen much from him over the previous decade, so most of my memories of him are from my childhood. I have always felt a strong connection to him, as a fellow red-headed Gemini (he was long past red hair when I first knew him, however). Like me, he was a crossword puzzle devotee, and he carried a little notebook in his shirt pocket to jot down thoughts as he had them. He died before Sandy and I got together, but she enjoyed hearing my stories. I wish I'd had the chance to introduce them.

Grandpa was very intelligent, but he graduated high school too young to go to college at the time, and the only work he could find was pumping gas. (As he told it, he first met my grandmother, 11 years his junior, when she was a snot-nosed second-grader sitting in the back seat of a car whose tank he was filling; they didn't start dating until many years later, obviously.) I was always told that no one was allowed to skip grades in our family because of Grandpa's frustrating experience.

After his death, we discovered that he didn't just graduate high school early; he graduated high school multiple times in different communities as his family moved around. Apparently, every time they moved, he just started school as a senior again and graduated with that class. So I don't know how old he was the first time he graduated high school. (And I'm not completely certain I have the story right, but I trust someone will correct me if necessary!)

Grandpa, Grandma, and their three children: Alyce Ann,
Bob, and Kathryn (my mother)

When my aunt asked me recently what memories I have of Grandpa, the first thing that jumped to mind was taking walks with him. He'd farmed most of his life, and after he and Grandma built a house in town, he walked frequently. When grandkids were around, we were invited to join him. Inevitably, he'd point out quarters lying on the ground and urge us to "pick up that quarter you dropped." At first, we were confused, "But Grandpa, I didn't drop a quarter!" but eventually we figured out that we stood to profit from his little game.

I don't know when I last saw him, but the last time I remember spending time with him was in 1988, en route from Oregon to Missouri with a friend after we'd finished our sophomore year of college. Grandpa didn't have any idea who I was, but he was friendly. And when he'd start to grow concerned, Grandma's presence comforted him. My friend thought Grandpa was wonderfully clever, because he didn't realize that every joke was one he'd been telling for years: "How'd you sleep?" "I don't know. I had my eyes closed."

Grandma and Grandpa with all their grandchildren when we celebrated their 50th
wedding anniversary. Back row: Mark, Bryan (my brother), Grandma, me,
Paul, Heidi (my sister). Front row: Lori, Nancy (with Robby), Grandpa. I suspect
Grandpa checked on each of us as he left.

I confess that Grandpa wasn't much on my mind in his last years. He was living in a nursing home when his care became too much for my grandmother to handle, and I didn't get regular updates on his status, probably because there wasn't that much to say. But one night, I woke up in my bedroom in Seattle to see him in the doorway, looking in the way a parent checks on a sleeping child. I smiled, comforted by his presence. The next morning I learned that he'd died.

As little as I understand about what happens when we die now, I knew even less then. But I felt strongly that he was making the rounds, checking on all his grandchildren, and I was pleased that he'd regained his memory of us, of me. I didn't go to his funeral, but I was grateful for my goodbye.

He was a good man, and he is missed. A few months before she died, Grandma told Sandy and me that she'd been seeing him in dreams, appearing as he had when he was younger and healthy. I'm hopeful that they've found each other again, and that he can bask in the love so many have surely sent his direction on this, the 110th anniversary of his birth.