I’ve been thinking about my Grandpa Smith an awful lot lately. Just when I let my mind cool off, library and computers… I start trying to remember what my grandpa’s voice sounded like. What he looked like, smelled like, sounded like, acted like.I keep having visions of him, ata birthday, giving me a tent. It was an orange pup tent. We used to use it to sleep out in the back yard.
I remember a big guy. Freckles. He always smiled when he saw us coming. Chewed tobacco (thought it was gross smelling, but he was grandpa…) Grandpa had red hair on the sides, greying on the top. he had a favorite chair, a La-Z-Boy type chair, with wood arms. It was parked in front of the TV. When we visited the farm, we’d go out on the tractor, pick corn and vegetables. Play in the fields. The smell of well water, and what I only learned later in my life was booze (Grandma!)
I was told all my life I look like my grandpa.. we called him Bumpa. That was Beth. When she was a baby, she couldn’t say Grandpa, so she started calling him Bumpa, and we all picked up on it. We all called him Bumpa. It’s a family traidtion of sorts now, except we couldn’t get Tima to call my Dad Bumpa…
I was driving along,a nd look at my own hands. And I saw my Bumpa. Driving his pickup, a 1980 Chevy Pickup, bought from Feldman Chevy on Grand River (they boned him on the purchase).
Just freaky stuff.Why am I thinking about Bumpa right now?