Grandpa Tippit

My muse prompted me to write the other day. (Yes, I have recently acquired a muse, but that is for another post.) He told me to write about an eccentric fellow of whom I once spoke, my grandfather. He was intrigued by this man who came to Christmas dinners in red and green plaid pants and a ridiculous Christmas tie, and he encouraged me to record my first memory of him.

Truth be told, he is not the only one intrigued by Grandpa Tippit, as he was an enigma even to his own grandchildren - or at least this one.

To the ear of an eight year old girl, the man was a myth. He was quoted as proclaiming, "C students rule the world." I had very little idea of how he earned his millions; I vaguely remember medical supplies mentioned a time or two, perhaps insurance. I heard legend of his first intimidating meeting with my father. Dad knocked on the door of the mansion in his beater with a One Way Jesus shirt to match his shaggy hair and cut-off jorts. Grandpa answered - and if I am imagining this correctly, he was wearing a suit and a glass of vodka. Dad offered his praises on the small castle, and in a very austere and self-assured tone, Grandpa replied, "We like it." He was extremely attentive to to table manners, and even made one cousin cry because she did not hold her fork correctly. According to hearsay.

If I could offer counsel to my eight-year-old self, I would tell her to stop being so self-absorbed and cherish the times I spent with my grandparents and those who gave so much for me. I do find comfort in the fact that while I do not have many succinct memories of us, some of my fondest childhood memories were provided by his generosity. Cruising around on a golf cart for hours, trips to Disney World, summer dinners provided by Tony Roma's, Christmas envelops filled with veritable treasures.

I did have one clear memory of Grandpa. He had been sick for quite some time, and my family was visiting my grandparents in Florida. We went out to dinner, and although I do not remember a bit of the meal, I do remember dessert. Because of a choking incident (another G-Tip legend), Grandpa chewed very slowly, no matter the food. This particular evening, he ordered mint chocolate chip ice cream. I watched him take every bite deliberately, slowly. We finished our dessert, the check came, payment went, the check returned. And Grandpa ate. I thought surely he must tire of the ingesting process, especially when Grandma arose and walked to the exit. But Grandpa ate. I will be darned if he left a bite of ice cream in that bowl, even as Grandma grabbed his arm, dragging him out the door.

It is silly sometimes, the memories we have. Perhaps it would be preferable to have a memory of him bouncing me on his lap, playing catch or giving a touching speech, but I like this one. This memory assures me that my grandfather and I could certainly bond over at least one mutual character trait - an unwavering devotion to dessert.