By: Natalie Gale

When you think about your childhood, what moments stand out? Now focus on these moments and try to remember who was there. Who made those memories so special? As I stand in front of poster boards, overflowing with photo after photo, memory after memory, these questions are easily answered. I focus on each picture, and I’m drawn into the memory that comes with it. The wave of emotions that has already washed over me turns into a tsunami as I realize I would not be who I am today without this person. A certain photograph catches my eye as I remember the faded red Adirondack chair and family that surrounds it. 

There it is! I see the familiar windy dirt road and burnt orange pine needles on the ground, casting a warm glow on the lush grass. My brain starts to wake back up after the long three hour car ride and I feel my legs tingling, ready to move again. The song switches to Jack Johnson’s “Bubble Toes” and finally, our black minivan pulls into the rocky driveway. 

“It’s as simple as something that nobody knows…”, I continue to sing under my breath after my mom turns the engine off. I am fully awake now as I see my grandfather standing at the entrance to the garage door of my favorite house. I hear the birds chirping from the many feeders hanging throughout the yard. As I climb out of the car my bare feet hit the pebbles, but are protected by ever growing calluses. I run over to my grandfather and wrap my arms around his soft, over-worn Derek Jeter T-shirt. The smell of wood and paint from his newest project embraces me, as I embrace him. 

Ding, ding, ding. The sound of the old grandfather clock in the living room plays as I wake up. I count the number of bells to figure out it’s 7am. Perfect timing to wake up and get the paper for my grandfather. He lets me do it everyday, knowing it makes me feel special to help him. On the plus side, he also lets me read the comics once he’s done. 

I sit and read the comics on the old couch that has molded perfectly to fit my 9 year-old self. Next to me is my grandfather, sipping his black coffee, and next to him is his best friend, Smitty. Upon everything else that my grandfather has taught me at this point in my life, Smitty and him have shown me what true friendship is. Smitty was there for my grandfather’s first little league game (which they played in together), his wedding, the birth of my mom, the death of my grandmother, and every moment in between. He is the ultimate best friend, and I only hope to be able to say that I have found my Smitty one day. The cool, morning breeze traveling through the open window allows for easy reflection like this, even at a young age. 

“Sorry!”, I say to my brother. “No you’re not”, he exclaims back. He’s right though, I’m not sorry. That Sorry card pretty much just secured me the win. On my next turn I pick up my last piece in overly dramatic fashion, and slowly place it into its home while staring my brother down. “BOOM! I win”, I yell smugly. My brother sticks his tongue out and looks pointedly towards my grandfather, waiting for him to step in. This was our fifth game now and my brother’s frustration of not having a win under his belt yet was growing. Matter a fact, we had been playing board games all morning and he had yet to win at anything. While Papa is essentially responsible for our competitive spirits, he also knows how to restrain them from getting out of hand. He explains to us how not everything is about winning. Sometimes the score is fun-to-fun instead of 8-to-3. 

A week of effortless fun, and secret life lessons has passed as I hear the familiar slam of the minivan. While I am overjoyed to see my mom again, I also could easily spend the whole summer playing cards and cornhole all day. After packing the car back up, we gathered around the faded-red Adirondack chair that served as my grandfather’s dedicated smore-making chair. If we were lucky, he would take requests for a slightly burnt and gooey marshmallow. My mom quickly takes the photo before anyone can move or groan about it taking too long. 

Someone taps me on the shoulder and I am brought back to reality, not even realizing I had been lost in my head for so long. I look around to see who disturbed my rare moment of peace on this day. I see Smitty’s pained smile and the annoyance is gone faster than it came. As hard as this day is for me, I can only imagine how he is feeling. I give him a smile back that hopefully conveys this back to him. Although I’m sure his was pretty similar to mine, I ask him how his morning was. Surprisingly, this seems to get more of a real smile out of him. He pulls up his sleeve and I see a scarily realistic tattoo of my grandfather’s face. I can’t help but laugh and Smitty joins in, glad to have a reason to. He raises his arm in a drinking motion and explains, “This morning I had my coffee with Bill”. My eyes tear up as I hear the funeral director ask everyone to take their seats so the service can begin. While I file towards the front, over the speaker I hear the lyrics, “…her eyes are as big as her bubbly toes”, and I know Papa is still with me.