Growing up in Florida, my sister and were lucky enough to have our grandparents around as a permanent fixture of our lives, present for every holiday, sporting event, awards ceremony, and sick day. They served as our second set of parents, helping raise and shape us.
Many of my friends would describe their grandparents as American as apple pie, with the dual smothering of affection and tradition -- evoking the smells of home cooked meals and musty furniture. My grandparents represent a different America, one of perpetual youth, adventure, and forward motion. I never saw them as old and still don’t, even now at the ripe age of 86. When you read their stories, you’ll understand why.
When I think of my grandma, I think of brown -- the leathery bronze of her skin, her feathery hair, and her crinkly eyes. The best conversationalist I’ve ever met, she is a model dinner party guest. She is always the last to finish a meal because she gets so caught up listening intently and asking questions. She can read a room like nobody’s business and I’m thankful to have inherited her social intelligence. Her curiosity and sunny disposition light up every room she enters and she enriches every discussion with a relevant cultural reference.
When I think of my grandpa, I think of his twinkling Dumbledore-esque blue eyes that betray his razor sharp wit and irreverent mischievousness. I think of his looming tall stature and knobby knees, the paradox of his sage wisdom and childlike joy. His voice always enters a room before he does, with a whimsical “yoohoo!” or faux German accent. If my grandma is the unsung hero of every dinner party for being the glue and sounding board, my grandpa is the center of attention. A natural born storyteller, he captivates everyone he talks to with his comedic theatrics -- a one man show of long pauses, dramatic facial expressions, and exuberant impersonations. His encyclopedic memory of geography and endless supply of obscure references make for never a dull moment.
As a couple, their Abbott and Castello-esque partnership demonstrates how lifelong love can be sustained through humor. I’ve never known someone to make more jokes than my grandpa or someone who laughs more than my grandma. They’ve perfected the art of give and take, with my typically demure grandma occasionally possessed by a flash of sternness, sharply saying, “Simmer down, Don. Don’t stir the pot.” And my verbose grandpa occasionally clamping his mouth shut, and raising his hand when he has something to say, waiting for my grandma to call on him. Together, they enjoy life more than almost anyone I know. This website captures that joy and how since they met, they’ve been laughing ever since.
