I want to introduce you to
my dodaddy. Some know him as Lew, to others he is dad, all of my cousins
call him granddaddy, but he was my dodaddy. I’m not sure where I came up
with that name, and I’m sure it was just as weird for him to be called that as it
was for me to call him that, but he returned the favor by calling me Patty Poo
and neither of us ever cared that it was strange at all (and for the record he
is the ONLY person that has ever been and will ever be allowed to call me that,
so as long as we are clear on that, we can move on). So, if you care to
listen, I'm going to tell you about him.
He played cribbage. And I don't care how many dollars he lost to my dad, I would always root for him. It didn't matter how bad he was losing, I was always sure he would pull through and win. And I was always insistent that he was a better cribbage player than my dad, much to my dad’s dismay. Dad, let's be serious, he was a kick butt cribbage player, and it was your butt he was kicking. And you loved every second of it.
He ate ketchup on everything. And I mean EVERYTHING. I don't really know why he bothered taking time to pick out his meals, because they probably all just tasted like ketchup. This used to make me crazy, but eventually it was just funny. At least he knew what he liked.
Sometimes, he would burst into song. I never knew what the heck he was singing, but I found it hilarious. It's just one of those awesome quirky things that old people do sometimes because they've lived long enough to know that it really and truly doesn't matter what other people think of you. It's pretty funny when you are in a crowded elevator and your grandfather just starts singing—not quietly—and everyone glances around at each other wondering what the heck is going on. It's hilarious. Maybe I'll try it sometime.
He loved Disney world. I don't know why this always astounded me so much. Maybe it's because he never did too much there, he would just sit and wait for people to get off of the rides he didn't want to ride. I never understood why he would think that it was so fun, until I grew up and became a little more like him. I've actually spent time thinking about this, because it really did baffle me so much, so here are the theories I have come up with as to why he loved Disney world as much as he did.
1. He enjoyed watching other people have fun. Whether it was a small child running around pretending to be Mickey Mouse, or his own children laughing over the dinner table, he found his joy and pleasure in other people’s joy and pleasure. I think this is a hard thing to find in people these days, and I admire him so much for that quality. This is essentially the definition of living for others instead of for yourself, and he wouldn't have it any other way.
2. He enjoyed his family. I think he was proud of the people he raised. He was proud of his family and he loved being with us. He knew that being surrounded by people he loved and loved him was far better than riding a thrill ride, and he was happy to know that he would be waiting for us when we got done.
3. It made him feel like a kid. This doesn't need much explaining, everyone feels like a kid within a few minutes of being in Disney. And let's not lie, it's pretty excellent.
4. The love of his life loved Disney. This is probably the biggest reason he loved it too. That said, let me tell you the most important thing about my dodaddy.
He was married to my memomma (seriously I have no idea where I got these names). And these past two weeks as I have been remembering him, it struck me how much I have also been remembering her. At first that seemed odd, shouldn't my thoughts be focused on him right now? Shouldn't he be the one I am missing and remembering and mourning? Then it occurred to me that it makes total sense that my thoughts of him would lead me directly to thoughts of her. So much of who he was, even in these past years since she has been gone, is wrapped up in her. The two of them were a team. They built a family out of a love that I envy, the kind of love I hope to experience in all of its richness one day (however I have a feeling it's pretty rare). One thing that I have been overwhelmed with lately is how grateful I am to be a product of that love. I owe a great deal of who I am to the two of them. They chose to love unconditionally the people in their life, and they were darn good at it. Without them, I wouldn't exist. Without them, I wouldn't have the loving family that's do. Without them, I might know a great deal less about what love really looks like.
This next little tidbit is probably my favorite, though it must be noted that it used to be my very least favorite thing about my dodaddy. Without hesitation, he tried to set me up with every eligible male within an acceptable age range. And I am really not exaggerating on this one. My older cousins can attest to this (and let me tell you they were very happy when they finally got married and the torch was passed on to me, thanks for the solidarity ladies...). From the next door neighbor, to the waiters at the restaurants we would go to, to the grandsons of his friends, he tried to set me up with them all. Now, up until recently this was extremely annoying and slightly stressful. However, these past couple weeks I realized something that I had never quite thought about before. My dodaddy had a wonderful, long, committed, and loving marriage. I really am not lying about their relationship just so I can say nice beautiful things now that they are gone. They really and truly did have something rare and beautiful. So it makes sense that he would want his precious granddaughters to experience the same love that comes from a relationship like he did. So in his own way, it's like he was telling us just how valuable and wonderful he thought we were and just how much he wanted good and beautiful things for us. In that light, I look back on all those awkward moments where my dodaddy asked waiters if they were single then pointed across the table at me, and I can remember them and smile, knowing how much I meant to him. I only hope he knows how much he meant to me too, and something tells me he knew. Because I am fairly certain he knew me pretty well.
He really was a good, strong, loving man. And I'm not just saying that because it's what you do when you remember people and try to honor them. I'll miss him, just like I miss her, but I can remember them with joy, knowing the lord made me a part of their family for a reason, knowing I am different because I am theirs, knowing that they knew how to love deeply, and knowing they left a lot of that love behind.
He played cribbage. And I don't care how many dollars he lost to my dad, I would always root for him. It didn't matter how bad he was losing, I was always sure he would pull through and win. And I was always insistent that he was a better cribbage player than my dad, much to my dad’s dismay. Dad, let's be serious, he was a kick butt cribbage player, and it was your butt he was kicking. And you loved every second of it.
He ate ketchup on everything. And I mean EVERYTHING. I don't really know why he bothered taking time to pick out his meals, because they probably all just tasted like ketchup. This used to make me crazy, but eventually it was just funny. At least he knew what he liked.
Sometimes, he would burst into song. I never knew what the heck he was singing, but I found it hilarious. It's just one of those awesome quirky things that old people do sometimes because they've lived long enough to know that it really and truly doesn't matter what other people think of you. It's pretty funny when you are in a crowded elevator and your grandfather just starts singing—not quietly—and everyone glances around at each other wondering what the heck is going on. It's hilarious. Maybe I'll try it sometime.
He loved Disney world. I don't know why this always astounded me so much. Maybe it's because he never did too much there, he would just sit and wait for people to get off of the rides he didn't want to ride. I never understood why he would think that it was so fun, until I grew up and became a little more like him. I've actually spent time thinking about this, because it really did baffle me so much, so here are the theories I have come up with as to why he loved Disney world as much as he did.
1. He enjoyed watching other people have fun. Whether it was a small child running around pretending to be Mickey Mouse, or his own children laughing over the dinner table, he found his joy and pleasure in other people’s joy and pleasure. I think this is a hard thing to find in people these days, and I admire him so much for that quality. This is essentially the definition of living for others instead of for yourself, and he wouldn't have it any other way.
2. He enjoyed his family. I think he was proud of the people he raised. He was proud of his family and he loved being with us. He knew that being surrounded by people he loved and loved him was far better than riding a thrill ride, and he was happy to know that he would be waiting for us when we got done.
3. It made him feel like a kid. This doesn't need much explaining, everyone feels like a kid within a few minutes of being in Disney. And let's not lie, it's pretty excellent.
4. The love of his life loved Disney. This is probably the biggest reason he loved it too. That said, let me tell you the most important thing about my dodaddy.
He was married to my memomma (seriously I have no idea where I got these names). And these past two weeks as I have been remembering him, it struck me how much I have also been remembering her. At first that seemed odd, shouldn't my thoughts be focused on him right now? Shouldn't he be the one I am missing and remembering and mourning? Then it occurred to me that it makes total sense that my thoughts of him would lead me directly to thoughts of her. So much of who he was, even in these past years since she has been gone, is wrapped up in her. The two of them were a team. They built a family out of a love that I envy, the kind of love I hope to experience in all of its richness one day (however I have a feeling it's pretty rare). One thing that I have been overwhelmed with lately is how grateful I am to be a product of that love. I owe a great deal of who I am to the two of them. They chose to love unconditionally the people in their life, and they were darn good at it. Without them, I wouldn't exist. Without them, I wouldn't have the loving family that's do. Without them, I might know a great deal less about what love really looks like.
This next little tidbit is probably my favorite, though it must be noted that it used to be my very least favorite thing about my dodaddy. Without hesitation, he tried to set me up with every eligible male within an acceptable age range. And I am really not exaggerating on this one. My older cousins can attest to this (and let me tell you they were very happy when they finally got married and the torch was passed on to me, thanks for the solidarity ladies...). From the next door neighbor, to the waiters at the restaurants we would go to, to the grandsons of his friends, he tried to set me up with them all. Now, up until recently this was extremely annoying and slightly stressful. However, these past couple weeks I realized something that I had never quite thought about before. My dodaddy had a wonderful, long, committed, and loving marriage. I really am not lying about their relationship just so I can say nice beautiful things now that they are gone. They really and truly did have something rare and beautiful. So it makes sense that he would want his precious granddaughters to experience the same love that comes from a relationship like he did. So in his own way, it's like he was telling us just how valuable and wonderful he thought we were and just how much he wanted good and beautiful things for us. In that light, I look back on all those awkward moments where my dodaddy asked waiters if they were single then pointed across the table at me, and I can remember them and smile, knowing how much I meant to him. I only hope he knows how much he meant to me too, and something tells me he knew. Because I am fairly certain he knew me pretty well.
He really was a good, strong, loving man. And I'm not just saying that because it's what you do when you remember people and try to honor them. I'll miss him, just like I miss her, but I can remember them with joy, knowing the lord made me a part of their family for a reason, knowing I am different because I am theirs, knowing that they knew how to love deeply, and knowing they left a lot of that love behind.
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