Meeting the RIP’d

There are a lot of people that I haven’t met that I’d like to.

Joan of Ark. C.S. Louis. The cast of Bonanza. Andy Griffith. Elvis. Realistically, I know I probably won’t ever meet these people. Personally I believe in an afterlife, but for those who don’t, there isn’t much chance of meeting them. There isn’t any way for me to meet them, for me to experience what they’re like as humans.

But the main way we try to get to know these people, usually celebrities, is through media. Through photos, videos, books (they’re these papers bound together with words printed on them), or any other way to try and relate to how they think or live.

My person is my father’s father. He died when I was nine, but I have a few select memories of him that are vivid. I don’t really consider that I met him, since I’m not sure if the memories are mine or stories retold to me over the years.

My clearest memory is when we were at his house with my grandmother, my father’s siblings, and their families for my grandfather’s birthday party. They didn’t live in a good part of town, so every now and then the guys would walk around and make sure everyone was there and safe.

We walked to their fenced backyard and saw three wooden picnic tables and a small swing set that he had put up for us kids. My younger siblings screamed and ran to the swing set and started playing. It smelled strongly of barbeque and cigarette smoke and summer. I kept walking with my parents to the closest table, it had all of the presents on top. There weren’t many, our family didn’t have much then and neither did anyone else.

But I was so excited. I had brought my Grandpa the best gift ever. I used to pester my Dad to tell me stories about his childhood all of the time, he would sort out the good ones and apply filters as needed. He mentioned multiple times that his dad and his brothers and he would always play marbles. And not just for fun, for keeps! That was exciting to me and my younger siblings, so our father bought us a bunch of marbles. Cat eyes, swirled, solid, marbled, shooters, rollers, and the biggest one I’ve still ever seen.

So I had brought him the best gift I could. I brought him my favorite marbles. They were expensive, at least by kid standards. I had saved up for three months to buy myself a new marble set. Clear ones that were speckled with blue and red on the inside. I had also given him some of my favorites, white with rainbow pain splatter. I carried the present myself, I didn’t want anyone else to lose it.

Grandpa came around the corner with Grandma, there were getting along that day. I ran to Grandpa and showed him my present, he laughed and said something and walked to the present table with me and sat down next to me. He called everyone over and got things started. I don’t remember much after that. People laughing, a couple fistfights, cheap sheet cake, generic orange soda.

A few years later my Grandpa died. He ran a bike and car shop, so he didn’t have much. But he had acquired some rare gold coins throughout his years. All of his valuables, his watch, his coins, everything he considered of worth, was missing. I know because my father’s siblings are petty vultures who always fight over everything when a relative dies. The coins were no where to be found. Also missing where the marbles I had given him, along with a drawing my younger sister had given him on a previous trip.

There are multiple ways I remember my Grandpa. I remember him through my name, when I see a motorcycle or souped up car, but most of all I remember him through marbles. This is how I remember the RIP’d in my life, and keep their legacy alive.