An Ode to My Grandfather

In honor of Black History Month, I have decided to write about my grandfather. Not only because of BHM— the timing just seems right. Even though he has been in heaven many years now, he has been on my mind recently and it just felt like I should write about who he was to me. I will be stepping out of my usual comfort zone of self-deprecating humor about my dabbles. Don’t get me wrong, many of the stories surrounding my grandfather are funny. He could definitely make everyone around him laugh, including himself. He had the best laugh. It was a throw-your-head-back-slap-your-knee, toothless guffaw. Toothless, because he refused to get dentures.

But he was much more than that.

My grandfather was a storyteller. As a child at his knee, I believed every word, in every story he told. As I grew older, I became skeptical of some of the details. He may have been an administrator at Prince’s school, but was he really the one to convince Prince to not give up on his music career? To hear my grandfather tell it, he was solely responsible for Prince’s success by encouraging him to keep going. It could be true, who knows? He was the kind of man who would do just that.

My grandfather was a lyricist. He had a way of putting words together in just the right way, like a song. In fact, he was a poet. He had several poetry books published and I’m sure any writing ability I have comes from him. His poetry was raw and beautiful and emotional. I’m sorry to say that I didn’t fully realize that until he was already gone.

My grandfather was a helper. He was one of the best examples I know of what it truly means to help people. He did it naturally and effortlessly. He was one of the founders of a food bank. He served on the city council. He reached out to students. He was there for us. He helped his city, his community, his students, and his family. 

My grandfather was an educator. He is one of the reasons I chose to be a teacher today. He believed strongly that an education was the key to a successful future. He earned his PhD during a time when not many minorities were going to college. He even wrote a book about the treatment of minorities on college campuses for his doctorate . He never let that be an excuse not to pursue higher education. He was an educator at all levels— teacher, administrator, professor. His biggest job was educating his children and grandchildren.

My grandfather was hilarious. He had a quick wit that was unmatched by anyone in the family. Even his groaners would leave you rolling, unable to catch your breath. Maybe it was his delivery. One of my best memories was his humor in full display at a softball game. The whole family was cheering on my aunt’s (I think) softball team at a tournament. Another aunt was yelling, “We smell victory!” over and over. Everyone was getting annoyed. Suddenly, my grandpa shouted, “We smell! We smell!” We all lost it!

My grandfather was an inspiration. Unfortunately, it has taken me until now to find that inspiration from him. Feeling down and discouraged about my writing, I randomly started flipping through the books on my shelf. Then I came across my grandpa’s poetry books.  I couldn’t put them down. I felt compelled to write about him, knowing that he had the courage to write and get published. Prompting me from heaven, my grandpa was the inspiration I needed to keep going.

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My grandfather was the best. I only hope that someday I can live up to what he was. Even a little.

I know this wasn’t my usual witty, lighthearted post, yet it felt like it needed to be written. Who inspires you?