In Memoriam

My only grandfather was actually my step-grandfather. But I never knew the difference. Nor did I care. He was, and had always been, the only grandfather I’ve ever known. Despite knowing him for all of my 25 and a half years, I actually know little about his early life. His past was rarely discussed, and I felt no need to pry into something that wasn’t readily offered. I don’t know the type of person he was in his youth. Did he have a temper like some boys do? Was he kind-hearted? I’m sure the ladies loved him. From what grandma says, they still do! (Especially at those old high school reunions!!) I can take solace knowing that people from his distant past remembered him. I’m not a religious or spiritual person by any means. It just never made sense to me. So I think that living memories are of incredible importance. The people that remain when you die will be the ones who carry your torch, and recall the events of your life. Many times, it’s easy to look at the past through rose-colored lenses. And yet, as I write this now, there is no distortion. I have nothing but fond and good memories of my grandfather. Never in my life did I see him treat another person with anything but the utmost respect and decency. That’s how he is in my living memory. I can only assume that others share that view of him.

From my experience, family isn’t so much about bloodlines, but about who is there when you need them. Warren Miller was family. Because of him, I know that there’s a guy who makes ski movies. 3 year old me loved the concept of peeing (while standing) and marking every tree in the vicinity. Hell, 25 year old me still thinks that’s a damn fine way to go! I also love the smell of pipe tobacco. For as long as I can remember, he watched a movie every night. When I was a kid and went to stay at grandma and grandpa’s house, I would stay up and watch a movie with him, and he often smoked a pipe. I associate that smell with being safe and secure. That smell, to me, denotes relaxation. I’m sure that’s why he smoked it too. Eventually, we grandkids learned about Public Service Announcements and harassed him mercilessly to stop smoking until he finally relented. As a child, I felt we’d achieved some great victory, righting the wrongs of the pre-pubescent world. The real answer is that he quit because he didn’t want us to experience any repercussions. That was the type of man he was. Always doing something for others.

The family he married into is a loud one. Most of us like to be the life of the party, even when we’re the only ones AT the party. So while the rest of us chortled and guffawed with glee, grandpa sat quietly entertained on one side of the circle. He’d wait until the perfect moment, then always interject some witty, sarcastic comment that belittled the entire conversation, but sent us all into hysterics anyway. He’d call himself an outlaw, surrounded by all his in-laws, and smirk as he took a sip of whiskey. Despite the odd dynamics within our curious family tree, he always managed to fit in just fine, even though he was a registered Republican.

One summer when I was probably around 7 or 8, I spent a week down with him because we were building a treehouse. I drew up elaborate plans for what I envisioned, and grandpa ever so diplomatically explained to me that my lack of knowledge regarding carpentry and physics would be a bit of a hindrance. So I helped as best I could, but what I remember most about that week is a new phrase: gotta see a man about a horse. We’d been at it for maybe an hour or so, and grandpa stands up, dusts himself off, looks at me and says “Well, I gotta see a man about a horse!” Then walked inside. I had no idea what to make of this, and knowing that he loved westerns, I assumed that he’d decided to go watch a movie. “So THAT’S why constructions projects take so long!” My feeble brain concluded. When he came back a minute later, he explained to me that his colloquial phrase was just a polite euphemism. That expression has stuck with me for almost two decades now.

What I’ve written here are the best examples of my living memories of my grandfather. He was a quiet, kind, gentle, and very generous man. He’s also very likely in the running for sainthood for putting up with the Burden clan for so many years! So to the only grandfather I’ve ever had, and could ever need, thank you for all the lessons and laughs over the years. It’s been said that we’re meant to lose the ones we love so we know how important they are to us. I can say now that I understand the significance of our relationship, and I hope to one day share that same dynamic with my own grandson. I saved a bottle of Oregon beer to have in your honor. In living (and loving) memory, here’s to you!