Kimberlee K.

When I was in elementary school, I remember a lot of summer afternoons when my cousin Spenser and I would spend the day with our grandpa. We could keep ourselves busy by watching television, throwing poker chips into a hat, playing Sequence, or sneaking back to ride the exercise bike we were explicitly told not to touch. But sometimes Grandpa would take us to the mall to let us window shop and walk out our energy.

He always parked by the food court, and we always walked past the Dairy Queen. I couldn’t tell you one store we shopped in, or anything else about those days at the mall, except for the careful calculations Spenser and I made while trying to convince Grandpa to buy us blizzards for the drive home.

We tested out timing: too soon and he’ll say no, too often and he’ll say no.

We tested out phrasing: instead of always using can we? we sometimes tried to make it his idea.

“You know gramps, I heard they have a new flavor blizzard out at Dairy Queen.”

Seed planted, keep moving.

More often than not though, no matter what strategy we employed, the answer was no. Which was honestly preferrable to the days he would tell us no and then buy one for himself, spooning the thick ice cream into his mouth as he tried to convince us that the popsicles we had at home were going to be just as good.

He knew we were watching, he knew we were jealous, he threw in a couple side eye glances just to be mischievous.

–

When I was a teenager, my family lived with my grandparents for a little while.

I would trudge down the hallway, angry to be awake, and find my grandma in the living room doing her daily step aerobic workout, and my grandpa at the dining room table with a fresh box of donut holes and a tall glass of Sunny D, watching one of his morning talk shows.

“KIMMMYY KIMM!!” my grandpa would sometimes yell, sometimes sing, sometimes clap to.

I would widen my eyes in horror, determined to stay crabby, but could never hold it for very long. Eventually we’d sit, eating our respective sugary breakfasts, and discuss the happenings on that day’s episode of Regis and Kelly or Good Day LA.

“Stay out of trouble,” Grandpa would say on our way out.

“I’ll try,” I’d say with a playful shrug.

“Me too.”

.

My grandpa took Christmas very seriously. In the years after my grandma died, we’d go as a family to their house and put up his vast array of decorations. He’d hold up miscellaneous Santas that swung their hips, rapped, or sang like Elvis and have us all watch, bobbing our heads to their assigned Christmas songs, and he would do laps around the house, pointing at design schemes that were not up to par, letting us know we should try again.

My grandpa loved pictures and would often flip through his phone looking at the most recent photos he’d been sent by friends and family. One afternoon he could not stop looking at a graduation picture of my cousin Tanner, and continually announced to the room how incredibly handsome he was.

My grandpa loved to brag about his family. He loved to tell people how many children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren he had. He liked to say that if he had just one more grandchild he would have an even dozen.

But even if you weren’t related to him, my grandpa had the ability to make everyone feel special and loved. If you came to visit, he wanted you to sit down next to him so he could ask you questions about your day, your week, your life, and he genuinely wanted to know the answers. He wanted you to know he saw you, and he wanted to make you smile.

I think a lot of people thought of my grandma and grandpa as surrogate parents and grandparents because they were so welcoming, caring, and thoughtful. There is a long, long list of people who will always miss them and think of them fondly. I don’t think I knew how good I had it as a kid, but I hope I did better at appreciating all the love and acceptance they gave me as I became an adult.

I am one of the lucky eleven—the almost even dozen. I am a relatively quiet, unassuming branch on a large, lively family tree. And while I’ll always miss my grandpa, I’m happy he’s with my grandma now, and I’m excited to see how our tree grows bigger and taller and farther reaching, always rooted in the love they started, and decorated with the laughter, chaos and color that came after.

So here’s to you, Grandpa, tell Grandma we say hello.

I’ll think of you at Dodger games and whenever I watch old musicals. I’ll never forget the way you would call my name across a room (especially at 7 in the morning) or that specific tone in your voice when you said, “how are ya?”

Thank you for loving me and my family—your family that we’re so honored to be a part of.

Also, I heard there’s a new flavor blizzard over at Dairy Queen…