In my apartment hangs a picture of Grandpa Zeitler. It is marked “Company D, 10th Battalion, Engineer Replacement Training Center” and dated March 1944. Written on the back is his location in the photo among the other soldiers.
But the Grandpa I remember wasn’t a soldier, or a farmer. He was the very tall man who listened to Pirates games on KDKA, an AM frequency that barely had the signal strength to get all the way up the river to his living room radio.
Most of my memories originate from that big house on the river, big family gatherings, pickles, baked beans, the glider on the porch, putting down big sheets of plastic to make water slides out of that hill – water slides that sent all of the Zeitler grandkids hurtling towards the river below at breakneck speeds. Pulling into the driveway and hearing those beagles bark and howl, the Chrysler that talked: “Your door is ajar.” The fitted pipe handrails stand out the most. I can remember what they metal felt like under my hand and thinking back now, it makes me think about the person who made them – that he cared enough about other people to ensure they had something secure to lean on.
In retrospect, there are a lot of other little things that seem kind of silly, but they are things that I associated with Grandpa – that he ate Cookie Crisp cereal, that there were always dishes of bright pink peppermint candies in the house, that every father’s day we’d give him one of those wooden whirly gig birds on a spike and he’d put it in his yard. He was always thankful for the gifts we brought him.
Sure, as a kid, I was like Dad and begrudged my own father the long trip to visit the few times each year we all made the trip as a family. And even more selfishly, I am proud of the gifts I’ve inherited thanks to my Grandpa: my height, my love of sports, and a strong work ethic (my Dad has a lot to do with those as well). Grandpa is a part of all of us, and sharing these memories will keep the spirit of one hardworking man alive.
Love,
Rebecca
Thursday, December 31, 2009
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