first time in 15 years

So I started this little informal tradition about 15 years ago when I was in the 8th grade on Veteran's Day. We had talked at school about veterans and I guess it impacted me enough that I wanted to call my Papaw and tell him thanks for his service in World War II in the navy. And so began the little tradition on every November 11.

This morning at school, we had a little flag raising ceremony to celebrate Veterans Day. It was short but sweet. And in the middle of singing "The Star Spangled Banner" with my five and six year olds around the flag pole, tears suddenly sprung to my eyes as I thought to myself "I need to call Papaw today" and then realizing that I couldn't. Papaw went to heaven in January.

Anyway, it was a bittersweet memory that made me realize how thankful I am that I not only had/have a grandfather that made a sacrifice to serve others, but more importantly that I had a meaningful relationship with my Papaw. We would sit around the kitchen table and play Uno and he would always jokingly complain how we would beat him every time in the very unique expressions that he was famous for in our family ("Now Jenny, why did you go and 'socko' (when my sister would be winning at Uno) your Papaw like that?" ) He always had the funniest shirts and caps that he wore (they'd always match what he was wearing in some way). Two of my favorite were: "When I'm right nobody remembers and when I'm wrong nobody forgets" and "When did my wild oats turn into shredded wheat?" He taught me what I know about ping pong...not really as good as Forrest Gump but really it was the quality time of hitting that little ball on the make shift ping pong table in the basement that left an impression on me.
Until he got really sick with Parkinson's Disease, he was never ever too tired to play with us. I remember playing games of "jail" in the backyard where my brother and I would tie him up to the porch swing and he would just jovially play along. Or we would build couch cushion forts and he would be the Big Bad Wolf and we'd be the "Three" (even though it was just me and Phil at the time) Little Pigs and he'd blow our house down and we'd squeal and shriek so dramatically. I really don't know now how he did it, but he would push us (sometimes all three at a time when we were little) in the garden wheelbarrow around the block or around the neighborhood. What I didn't tell you is that he and Mamaw lived(d) on top of a pretty big hill in Georgia...right across from Look Out Mountain. I don't even think I could run up the hill today without collapsing at the top. We would sometimes take frozen bread with us and feed the neighborhood dogs. Homer the Dalmation was our favorite. Not really sure now how the owners felt about us feeding their dogs food fit for a duck, but I guess what they didn't know didn't hurt them:)

He was always very generous and I always thought everyone had a "Papaw" like that until I grew up a little bit more. I was definitely blessed in that way.