Today (February 3rd) is my mother’s AND my grandfather’s birthday. Grandpa always liked to call Momma his birthday present. If they were still alive Momma would be 79 years old and Grandpa 103. Now I’M feeling old.
Grandpa was a Southern Baptist preacher. He was as much of a conservative as I’ve always been a flaming liberal. And yet we connected. I can still remember as a little girl how I would look up at him and see this big mountain of a man. (He wasn’t that tall – but he was broad.) He was my rock – the one man I could always count on. He might shake his head over my nutty ways. But I knew he had my back.
Momma was my cheerleader and biggest fan. She never had the slightest doubt that I could do whatever I wanted. She didn’t really care what – as long as it made me happy. And with my overactive imagination I came up with a lot of interesting possibilities. When I was around seven or eight I loved to watch this cartoon show “The Harlem Globe Trotters” that was loosely (VERY loosely) based on the real life professional basketball team. I distinctly remember telling Momma that when I grew up I was going to join their team. God knows how she managed to keep a straight face. But she didn’t argue. She just went right out and bought me a basketball. I’m your stereotypical bookworm and anything but athletically inclined. So that particular fancy didn’t last long. It didn’t matter. Like every other crazy idea I came up with she just knew I could make it happen if I really wanted it.
They’ve been gone so many years now. But even after all this time I can still feel their love – their unconditional love. And how precious and rare it was.
Happy Birthday Grandpa!
Happy Birthday Momma!