Memories come and go, it is just a part of life. We forget things today and yet we might remember things that we did years ago. It is funny how the human mind works.

Last night while rocking the boys, they asked if I liked ice cream and I laughed, because who doesn’t like ice cream? But I remembered something, a memory that I had from a long time ago, when I was their age. Every Thursday night for several years, my grandfather drove 45 minutes to take me get ice cream. This was a time before cell phones, but I would stand at the window waiting and when I would see him pull up in the white VW Bug, I would run outside and off we would go.

The funny thing is that I have not thought about this grandfather taking me for ice cream for years. I remember the ice cream shop, the checkered floor, the way that they had all the ice cream in a paper container inside of a glass case. I remember the way that my grandfather would lift me on his shoulder so that I could not only make my selection, but also so that I could tell the person waiting on us my order. And every time, every time, I would get Strawberry ice cream.  I don’t know why these memories came into my head at that very moment, but I’m glad that they did.

This particular grandfather, my mom’s mom, died when I was in 1st grade and I don’t have a lot of memories of him. I remember the ice cream, I remember his barbershop and I remember the train set that he bought for  me and that we played with when I was my son’s age. I was and would still be, my grandfather’s only grandson. There are multiple great grandsons, but I would have been the only grandson among 3 granddaughters.  I could do no wrong in my grandfather’s eyes, I just wish that he would have lived longer, long enough to see my sons.

I’ll never forget where I was when I was told about my grandfather’s death, standing in the hallway outside of my class, talking with the principal of the school. But years later, while I was at work, I was talking to a gentleman by the name of Dave and while talking I said something and he froze. He literally stopped in his tracks, turned around and sat down in a chair.  Dave asked if Clifton was my grandfather and if Chris was my mom. And when I said yes, he broken into tears. He started sharing memories of them both and stories that I had never heard before. I felt better about my grandfather that day and felt a peace with his death, since he never told me goodbye, before he took his own life.

I am fortunate though, I do have one grandfather left, my dad’s father and he and I are really close. We usually talk once or twice every other week. We talk about any and everything under the sun. Work, his dad, my dad as a kid, my sons, politics, and the list goes on. My grandfather grew up during the great depression and served in WWII, though it has take years of my asking some basic questions about those two events for him to open up. My grandfather is a very proud man and will never talk bad about anyone, even those that do him wrong. I have learned so much about him and from him in the last several years, that these are things that I’ll treasure.

But this past week on our weekly call, I realized that the memories are starting to fade for him.  He was getting dates confused, people confused and was getting really tired, but at 90 years old, what do you expect.  But it is also sad too, because there is more that I want to know about him, his past, his life as a farmer, his 60 year marriage to my grandmother, but all of the memories are starting to fade. But I love when my grandfather shares stories with me, that my dad has never heard, like when he and my grandmother were married by the Justice of the Peace for $3.00, because that was all that he had ,but in hindsight, he should have given him $2.00 because he needed gas money later week.As I get older and I talk with my parents and more importantly my grandparents, I am reminded about memories, because memories can be both good and bad. They can provide both a sense of comfort and security as well as hopelessness. My hope is that as my boys grow up and if they too should be become fathers, that they share their memories of my time with them. The sacrifices that my wife and I made, so that they could have a better life. But I hope that they share the good memories, the trips together, the playing, the laughing and more importantly, how much we love them.