List 43 memories of my Grandpa

Indiana Beach, a small, old-fashioned amusement park, was our annual vacation destination. My grandpa’s father first started the tradition long before I was born, and it’s continued to this day with my girls representing the 5th generation of my family to realize “there’s more than corn in Indiana.” As a kid, we had so many little traditions weaved into this vacation. The morning of our trip, my grandpa would wake me up by shouting into my room, “does anyone want to go to Indiana Beach today?” The drive over from Illinois was only about two and a half hours long, but we’d always stop half-way and have a picnic lunch. Once at Indiana Beach, we always stayed in the same “Penthouse” suite, rode our favorite rides together, and spent a ridiculous amount of money on Skee Ball. In fact, we’d save our quarters all year just to blow on the game. There were years I resented the trip because I wished we’d spice things up and venture somewhere new, but the fun I had with my grandpa at Indiana Beach will always be some of my best childhood memories.

We picked up a bag of Dilly Bars over the weekend, and it reminded me of a memory I think I’d forgotten over the years. My grandpa loved Dilly Bars and made a point to bring home a bag a few times each summer. It was always an unpredictable and novel treat since I never knew he was planning to pick some up ahead of time. On Dilly Bar days, we’d each unwrap one as soon as he walked through the door, take them outside, and sit, eat, and talk.

My grandpa made at least one trip to our local grocery store each and every day, and I often joined him. Of course he knew everyone who worked there, and it was fun to listen to the little conversations he’d have with the guys stocking the shelves and the cashiers. I remember he used to buy a scratch off lottery ticket for one of the bag boys even though he wasn’t quite old enough to gamble yet. I also loved his grocery lists. He always had a stack of old ones in his shirt pocket, and they didn’t vary that much from one trip to another so if he couldn’t find the current one he’d just grab an old one and buy the items on that list. Instead of “eggs” he always just wrote down the letter “x.”

My grandpa was always very concerned about and leery of the weather. He kept a close eye on it and was quick to take action when he thought things were getting out of hand. He was especially nervous about tornadoes. Understandable since we lived in a mobile home, but his safety plan left a little to be desired. He’d get the four of us into the car, drive to the bank in downtown, and park under the big concrete overhang of the drive-through. I guess he thought the concrete was strong enough to withstand a twister, and I always felt safe, but now I have visions of us crushed to death or blown away.

My grandpa had a couple little Christmas tree ornaments he’d held onto since his childhood. My favorite was this little red and white striped Chirstmas stocking. It had grown old and tattered over the years giving it so much charm and character. It was always my favorite ornament to see come out of the big boxes of ornaments each year, and it always earned a special spot in the front and center of the tree. I’m not sure what happened to it after my grandma moved into the nursing home, but I wish I had it. (As much as I loved it, I once had a nightmare it was crawling down the hallway in the middle of the night towards me.)

My grandpa and I had our share of fights once I hit the teenage years. I was a good kid and never got into any real trouble, but there were still tears and slamming doors and all that usual angst. I remember our biggest and ugliest fight came the summer after I had graduated from high school. I had my first boyfriend and stayed out really late one night. It must have been close to 4:00 in the morning when I got home, and he was sitting outside waiting for me. A lot of ugliness insued, and it was months before we were on good terms again. Looking back now that I’m a parent, I see it all from his perspective, and I’m touched by his concerns and worries for me at that transitional time of life.

My grandpa was a colorful character and had a lot of interesting expressions I’ve never heard uttered by anyone else. Most of them I can’t repeat here, but two of my favorites were always, “if, dog, rabbit” and “stuck in the mud.”

I looked into “if, dog, rabbit” and my grandpa certainly didn’t originate the phrase, but to this day he’s still the only person I’ve heard use it. If he heard me lamenting about something that didn’t work out like, “if I’d studied a little more, I’d have gotten an A,” he’d always shrug and proclaim, “if, dog, rabbit.” He was also a fan of the more common, “hindsight is 20/20.”

“Stuck in the mud” was his amusing expression for a wedgie! I find myself using it with Audrey now because she seems to have some issues with her undies and is always running up saying, “too tight, too tight.” Upon examination, I always discover a wedgie and say, “oops, you’re just stuck in the mud.”

My grandma is 100% Danish so my grandpa (50% Irish, 50% English, Scoth, Welsh combo) must have picked this song up from her. I’ve been trying to find it online, with absolutely no luck so if anyone recognizes it and knows the real words/translation, please help me out:) Anyway, this was the song my grandpa sang to me as a child. It was a knee bouncing song and went something like this…

Herman richt American
Pimpf, pimpf, pimpf
Johnas come agan rafter
Scoompf, scoompf, scoompf
Sir com agol Hans
Sir com agol Hans
Kalomph, kalomph, kalomph

My grandpa worked as a painter at a developmental center, and I loved visiting him there. In the summers, my mom or grandma would take me at least once a week to have lunch with him. We’d sit up among all the paint cans and eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Afterwards, he’d let me help him clean paintbrushes, and I’d watch him get his supplies ready for the afternoon. This is one of those memories that just assaults the senses when I think about it. I can still remember exactly how that room smelled with its distinctive mixture of paints, paint thinners, and smoke. I’d often sit just outside his shop playing with these little small, smooth pebbles that filled the space between the sidewalk and the building. I can still remember exactly how they felt and hear the whir of the big air conditioner over my head.

(The picture is the main building of the developmental center. His shop was in an unattached building just to left.)

This was our favorite local restaurant. It was your basic family-run restaurant serving all-American food with big portions and low prices. We probably ate there at least once a week, more often as my grandma got older and was less inclined to make dinner at home. Sometimes the whole family (my mom, my grandma and grandpa, and me) went, but just as often it was just the two of us. He’d read the paper, let me scratch off a few instant lottery tickets, and we’d talk about our day. We tended to order the same things. Hot roast beef sandwiches with mashed potatoes and gravy were always a favorite. The restaurant has recently changed hands and been turned into a ‘50’s style place. I haven’t been because it makes me sad to think of such a mainstay of my formative years changing.