My Grandfather, My Hero

My very own Super-Hero - My granddad

My granddad was an incredible man. His given name was Bert and that's what I called him, probably since that's what I heard everyone else call him and it was easier to say than granddad. Who knows? But, for whatever reason, that was the moniker I christened him with and since I was the first grandchild, it stuck. He was Bert to all the grandkids.

Bert was a big man - over six feet tall, broad shoulders, huge hands, big, strong arms and a huge, crooked smile that spread across his face and made everything right with the world. He had a booming voice and when he walked into a room, his presence filled it. He never met a stranger, was never at a loss for words and he never met a problem that was bigger than he was. He was my hero.

I lived with my grandparents for the first three years of my life. Bert and Gommy (you see what I mean? Gommy was my attempt at grandmommy) lived in a little farmhouse in the Texas Panhandle. When I think of that farmhouse, I am overwhelmed with a sense of peace and contentment. I can never remember a bad time at the farm - I have only happy memories there. I remember when Bert would say, "I'm going into town," I would run into the kitchen, jumping up and down, begging to go with him. There was no bigger excitement than climbing into the front seat to sit beside Bert and have him all to myself as we made that slow drive over bumpy, dirt roads into town. We had long, deep conversations that always started with, "Well, Doll, what are we going to talk about today?"

I remember the distinct smell of his car - that old leathery, stale cigarette smell. There were papers of all sorts strewn all over the dashboard and little pieces of paper and tiny spiral notebooks in the middle of the seat that he would move when we got in so that I could sit beside him. I remember feeling such joy just sitting there beside him; I always felt so important riding into town with him. And when we got there, it was even better. He knew everyone in every store we went in and I felt like a princess walking along, my tiny hand in his big bear paw of a hand as he greeted everyone by name. He had a smile and a funny remark for everyone. It was like a trip to Disneyland for me. I never had so much fun.

Riding back to the farm with him, I often fell asleep, resting my head on his leg. He would drive with one hand, the other hand resting on my back. Occasionally, I would startle awake when the car hit a pothole in the dirt road and he would pat my back, easing me back into a peaceful sleep.

Years later, when I was a teenager with all the angst of a teenage girl, I can remember coming home crying after a break-up with a boyfriend. Bert was there in our kitchen sitting at the table. He looked up at me, held out his big arms and said, "Come 'ere, Doll." Just like when I was a little girl, I climbed up on his lap, layed my head on his shoulder and cried while he held me safe. And for that moment in time, nothing could touch me - no pain, no hurt, nothing mattered except that I was safe in Bert's arms.

Nothing was ever bad enough that a hug from Bert couldn't make it better. I knew nothing could beat me as long as I could retreat to the safety of Bert's arms.

Bert has been gone now for more than 25 years, but I still miss him today just as much as I did the day he died. He was the only constant in my life for so many years. I always knew when anything went wrong, if I could just get to Bert, climb up in his lap, and have him put those big, bear arms around me, I could survive anything. Just being in the same room with him calmed me. I felt safe in his presence and I knew that he was always, ALWAYS on my side. I remember thinking when he died, "How will I ever feel safe again?"

I have learned to feel safe, but I've never found that sense of complete peace that I knew with my granddad. There won't ever be anyone else like him, not in my book. Because he wasn't just my granddad, he was my hero.