Bayport Grandpa

Before Bayport Grandpa first met Tolga, he went to the library. He asked the librarian to help him find some Turkish words, and he learned how to say "hello" and "welcome" in Turkish. He wrote the words on an index card so when he first shook Tolga's hand, he pulled out the card and read the first word to Tolga, and had Tolga help him with the second word.

In Turkey, it is priority to always respect your elders - to serve them, ask after their health, and kiss their hand. My Turkish family always asks me first how my grandfather is, and then how my father is. I am humbled when I think how Grandpa honored Tolga by welcoming him in his own language - as if he were already connected to Tolga's culture and what would means the most to them. When I think of Grandpa, "respectful" was never a word that came to mind - but that was exactly what he showed Tolga in that first meeting.

Grandpa's gone now, but I've had on my mind to write down somethings that Grandpa said or did before I forget:

When I was young - maybe 7, or 10 - I don't know. I periodically set up a lemonade stand. This might seem normal to most people, but considering where we lived ... it wasn't normal. I loaded up a wagon, made a sign asking for 10 or 25 cents, and mixed a jug of lemonade - but I didn't test it because I didn't want to cut into the profits.

I hauled the contents down our long private driveway to the "main" road. A wide dirt road that maybe saw 5 cars in a day. I tried to time my trip to at least meet the mailman. Grandpa came out one of these times to visit us. I poured him a tall glass of lemonade. He guzzled down the entire glass, smacking his lips from the refreshment.

"How was it?" I asked, expectantly.

"Terrible." He answered, and gave me a dollar.

It was only then that I tried my lemonade . . . he was right, it was terrible.

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Grandpa was having greater and greater difficulty swallowing over the past few years because of a problem with his epiglottis. He often choked on his food and it was a source of great embarrassment for him. One day at a restaurant he choked so violently on his food that people stopped eating, poised to assist as food sprayed over himself and the table during his coughing fit. Recovering, he announced loudly: "It sure is tough being middle-aged."

Grandpa worked in Bayport's state prison for many years as a guard. In the past year, his youngest daughter cared for him the most, more often fighting, nagging, and pestering him than not. Grandpa called her his "warden." He kept a half-container of beer next to his chair just to antagonize her when she visited.

* * *

God bless him.