Driving in Cars with Grandfathers

(for my Pop C and Grandpa L on Father’s Day)

As a young girl – I was intimidated by my grandfathers.  So the minute I found myself alone with them, I’d rush out to escape the uncomfortable silence that I was sure would suffocate me.  What is particularly ironic is that with both my grandfathers, my last personal one-on-one conversations with them took place in a car.

I want to tell you how my fears and perceptions prevented me from gaining important knowledge and opportunities. And I want to share what I gained by throwing those fears away. 

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Pop C loved to play games with his grandchildren.  One of my favorites was when he sat at the kitchen table, opened his arms wide and shouted, “Hurry! Run before the gate closes!” The object of the game was to run into his arms before the “gate” closed. I always knew that no matter how small the opening became there would always be enough room for me to slip into his arms.  I loved his hearty laugh and the warmth of his fuzzy sweater. Mostly though, I loved the game because it let me get close to and love a man who in many ways was an intimidating figure to me.

Pop C was born in rural Newfoundland and became involved in politics in his early 20s.  My memories are filled with him running for elections, sitting at his computer writing letters around political agendas, or watching the news (and Seinfeld!).  Pop was a charismatic man, with a solid work ethic and a firm determination to support issues close to his province.  He had a passion for his work.  Even when he retired from the provincial government he could always be found writing an editorial for the local newspaper or researching a topic close to his heart, which in all cases focused on the province he was from – and loved.

Pop’s other passion was his family. He took great pleasure in having his grandchildren around and often invited us to stay over on weekends.  Of course, the responsibility of taking care of us would often fall on Nan’s shoulders, but she knew how happy it made Pop – how much he enjoyed hearing our giggles and the tiptoe of our feet as we snuck off to bed.  When any of his children or grandchildren were in trouble Pop would do anything to help.  He would take them into his home until they got back on their feet, provide them with some extra cash, or discuss ways to get them back on track.

He was the glue that held the family together.

Pop had many sides to his personality. When he was working he was charged with energy and opinionated.  When he was around his grandchildren, he was jovial, a storyteller, and a joker.  When he was around the whole family he would often be the observer, watching silently the exchanges taking place. To me, Pop was a powerful force.  And despite his loving side, my shyness, along with the generation gap between us, made me feel intimidated by him.

I felt much the same way with my Grandpa L. But now that I look back at those feelings, I know that it was not so much because he was intimidating, but rather that I did not know him really well.

Like Pop C, Grandpa L loved to be around his grandchildren.  He would always be in the middle of the action. I remember him at a party once – sitting on a stool while his grandchildren sat on the floor around him, enthralled by his tricks.  But they weren’t just ordinary tricks.  He had a lit cigarette in his mouth, which he took into his hand. One second it was in his hand, the next it was gone. Then it reappeared in his other hand. He smiled as he watched the amazed expressions on the faces of his grandchildren. Not your usual prop for showing tricks to kids.  But it didn’t matter to us.  We only saw him – his smile and the movement of his hands as we tried to discover his magic.

Grandpa L seemed a relatively quiet man to me.  There was a sense of mystery to him.  I knew he was in the Korean War and had a tattoo on his arm – a permanent reminder of his time there.  I imagined him gruff and serious, and a hero.  I also knew he wrote a manuscript for a book called “Swamp Singer”. My mother told me it was written before Canada was faced with the mailbox bombs by the FLQ ( Front de libération du Québec ) and the kidnapping and murder of Pierre Laporte.  It was way ahead of the times in that respect and was as if he had forecasted the events – eerily accurate to what actually transpired. Not surprising to me since it was believed Grandpa had a special “psychic ability”. I heard my mother talk about the book and I remember one time finding it.  It seemed to include a love story. 

I didn’t always picture Grandpa as a really sensitive man, but his warm blue eyes, laughter and happy whistling belied that belief.

Whether it was the powerfulness I associated with my grandfathers or the mystery that surrounded them, I never knew what to say to them. I was a shy child who hated awkward silences. What did I really have to say or offer?  I got along just fine with them when others were around and I even managed to develop a certain closeness with them both.

What is particularly ironic is that with both my grandfathers, my last personal one-on-one conversations with them took place in a car – with just the two of us – and I thank God today that I didn’t hide from those experiences.

In early 2001, the awful news came that Pop C had cancer. 

I was devastated.   I had moved to Toronto only months earlier and wished I could be back in Newfoundland to spend as much time possible with him and my family.  At Christmastime I went home and could not believe that the man I knew as the foundation and powerful force behind our family had, in only a few short months, shriveled to become an old man.

Even Pop’s eyes, a beautiful light blue hue, always lit with fire and life, were dull and sad. One of Pop’s favorite pastimes was to go for a drive around the city.  All decked off in his brown leather jacket and his hair “just so”, he’d round up Nan and their dog and they’d go for hours.  Pop’s illness made it difficult for him to move around or participate in the normal routine he followed on his better days. 

One day, when I was visiting him with my aunt, he expressed his desire to go and pick Nan up from the hairdresser. Because my aunt didn’t think he should drive on his own and because she had other errands to run, she suggested I go with him.  Pop was visibly excited about the opportunity to pick up Nan – almost like he wanted to show her that he was fine.

When we were on our way, my mind immediately raced for something to talk about. But, it was not needed. 

Pop was in a storytelling mood that day. 

While I can’t remember the specifics of the stories he shared with me, many of them were of his political years.  I listened to him recall events from generations past, sharing the punch line of his jokes over and over again as tears of laughter covered both our faces. I had never been so happy to be with him.  In that short period of time, it was like Pop wanted to share with me all that I missed in the past.  He loved my undivided attention and I was happy to be his captive audience.

My time with Grandpa L was not under sad circumstances.  I was in British Columbia at the time and it was a beautiful sunny day. Grandpa had made one of his weekly visits. He always came with chocolate milk in hand and that day was no exception. My brother and I sat with him at the kitchen table with our glasses half full, cookie crumbs on our laps and chocolate mustaches covering our top lips.

Grandpa was making conversation with us and the topic of our ages came up.  When he realized that I was almost 17 the conversation moved to driving and licenses. It was then that Grandpa exclaimed I was going to learn to drive that day – and that he was going to be the one to teach me.  

I immediately tried to make excuses but soon found myself behind the wheel for the first time with Grandpa on the passenger side. With his 16-year old granddaughter driving for the first time behind the wheel of his car Grandpa showed no signs of nervousness. 

He lit a cigarette, opened the window, and sat back snugly in the seat like he was going on a regular Sunday drive. I, on the other hand, was sweating with trepidation.

I listened to Grandpa as he delivered instructions on how I should change lanes, check my blind spot, and look in my rear view mirror. To this day I take my time and “glide” when I switch lanes. Soon I was feeling more confident.  

As we sped along in his car, driving along the winding roads with the mountains in the horizon and the sun beating down on us, we talked – about family, about him, and about where I saw myself going in the future. I felt so free as the wind whipped through my hair and so happy that Grandpa L had made this offer to me.

My grandfathers taught me many things – like the importance of family, the ingredients of hard work, and the tricks to telling a good story.

Neither of them is alive today but when I think about them now I remember the “car adventures” we had.  I think about how the illusions I built around them caused me to miss out on many personal one-on–one experiences with them. How many illusions had I created?  I can only imagine what they prevented me from doing, or gaining – in all areas of my life.

We all have our “hang-ups”, perceptions, beliefs – whatever you want to call them. But it’s sometimes hard to see that they prevent us from gaining important knowledge and experience. When I found myself in a situation where I could just be me, where I could throw my judgements out the open car window, I started to really see who my grandfathers were. All of a sudden they were no longer intimidating or mysterious to me.

I think about Pop C and Grandpa L often.  I can’t help but smile as I think about them telling their stories – and looking over at me with their bright blue eyes – full of laughter, wisdom and openness.  Sometimes when I’m driving alone in my own car I imagine that they are sitting next to me.  And I’m proud to say that I’m happy to have them there, even if it is only in spirit.

Thinking of you on Father’s Day – Pop C and Grandpa L. I hope the top is down and you’re enjoying the ride.

Unfolding Tip:

Don’t let your judgements, hang-ups, or perceptions stop you from engaging with those closest to you. Grab on to those one-on-one moments. They are valuable, and fleeting.