Papa Jack

Papa Jack,

Today is Veterans Day in America, and I’m thinking of you. You were a big part of my life and created memories I’ll take to the grave. Working on airplanes in the garage. Teaching me how to solder. We went on adventures in the desert, chasing balsa wood airplanes on Honda 110s. You taught me how to fence.

Every Wednesday for years, you picked me up from school, bought me an ice cream from AMPM, and sat in LA traffic to take me to fencing lessons. I remember how your passion for fencing sucked in my dad, my aunt, and Uncle Danny. What a strange way to bond as a family, but that’s the power you and Grandma had. You were the glue of the family, holding us together, whether through fencing, Thanksgiving, or trips up the California coast. I remember you going with me to a fencing tournament in Phoenix, Arizona. I didn’t do well, and you were so kind and kept my attitude positive. I still have the handwritten note you sent me after I won a tournament. It meant the world to me.

On this Veterans Day, I think of your sacrifice for our country. You crashed planes for a living. A young guy of seventeen and eighteen, training pilots to fight in a terrible war. You and Grandma married so young, perhaps illegally young; nobody knows for sure. But I remember those stories of dipping your bedsheets in water because Arizona is a desert and it was pre-AC. I loved hearing your stories of the military, of growing up in LA, and of the friends you met along the way. I’m not sure they make them like you anymore.

You endured the Great Depression and WWII. You married young, raised a bunch of great kids, and softened with each passing year. I think Jesus had something to do with it. I know you weren’t a perfect man. You did the best with what you had. I know your kids have scars, but I pray they aren’t too deep. Unfortunately, I’ll leave my own on my kids, but I too pray they are only surface wounds that don’t require too much surgery.

You have always been an inspiration to me. A kind man, and also tough. A man who told Grandma how much you loved her, and didn’t complain much. You took the time to sit me in your lap and teach me the capitals of each state, or to watch silly movies or Seinfeld together. You taught me about staying active for the mind and body. You did a crossword every day, and walked, and lifted weights, and fenced. You did all this late into your life. You also modeled a humble faith in God.

Papa, you were a curious man, coming up with new techniques in your dental practice and experimenting with plants in the greenhouse. You loved to travel, tell stories, and listen to music on the record player. You read, and loved well, and helped where you could. I’m thankful to have been in your orbit for those thirty-plus years.

I’m also happy you met two of our children, even though they don’t remember much. You’d love our other two kids, too. They all have the Pelton Nose, and your sense of humor. You lit up for the grandkids, including me, and I enjoyed the years when I was the solo grandkid soaking up all the love.

You and Grandma endured much hardship with your own immediate families, your kids, your health, and life under the sun. But you were some of the most joyful, happy, kind, and gracious people I’ve known. You loved your family well, and those holiday celebrations were always the highlight of my year. Those sleepovers were great, too, even when you took me to Sunday school and I was the weird kid who didn’t know anybody. That living Christmas tree at your church was cool, too.

A couple of weeks back, I did a graveside service for someone in our congregation. It brought a smile to my face knowing you and Grandma were laid to rest in the same cemetery. Life has a funny way of taking you here and there. I never thought I’d leave California. I thought I’d stay forever like you and Grandma. But the ministry doesn’t always allow for a stable existence. You’d be proud of your pastor-grandson. I’m not a Baptist, but we all follow the same Jesus, and that’s all that matters.

There is something beautiful and important about a place: the places that shape and form your life. We have California in our blood and souls. I remember those trips into LA to get Mexican food and explore the sights. Trips to the beach and up the coast, to Palm Springs and Solvang. I think you loved chasing the sun. You were always game for an adventure.

Back to the cemetery. There I was, laying to rest a man who happened to be a veteran like you, and thinking about you and Grandma resting a few hundred yards away. I imagined you smiling from heaven.

On this Veterans Day, I’m reminded of the grandparent lottery I won. I’m thankful for our family and the kids you raised. My dad is a special guy, and he loves to remind people how awesome you were and how much you loved aviation. I didn’t become the pilot my dad probably hoped I’d be, but I have that aviation blood in there somewhere. More importantly, I have your blood, and family blood is what matters most.

Rest in peace, Papa Jack. Someday we’ll all be together, and I’m sure there are many more adventures to be had. I don’t know if heaven will have airplanes, but I’m sure you’ve asked Jesus if he’d be up for the idea. You’d certainly know how to build the perfect one.

Love,

Grandson #1