Tribute

My dad's dad Burton Wesley passed away this weekend.

News from Washington this last week was that he'd taken a turn for the worse. So it is a bittersweet day to know he has gone on to a better place and his suffering is finished.

The three of us went to primary today, my dad and I to support my mom as she took on the task of keeping twenty kids singing and learning since only one of the leaders showed. The topic she chose to focus on in her impromptu sharing time was families. We talked about the importance of families and how cool it is that we know life doesn't end at death.

She also shared with them that today is a special day for us since 26 years ago today I found my way into this family. 'She was delivered to the wrong address' my mom explained. The kids were amazed by this: 'But you look so much like each other!' I told my parents later it had to be because all white people look the same to them right?

All the same, I'm so very, very blessed to be in this family. Of course grandpa has been on my mind all week knowing his time with us was winding down. I have a thousand and one memories of this fine man that are so near to my heart.


As a kid my grandpa was the highlight of my summer. If they were coming to visit us the build up of their arrival would send me into a hyper frenzy. I would wait impatiently riding my bike up and down our street until the moment would come when I'd see their big white car glide around the corner. I felt like I could fly those days racing home to wait for the hugs that would come. Grandpa had a routine. He'd unpack with me hoovering around smiling at him. Then he'd take a long walk around the yard checking on the garden and being so patient with me as I tugged him in every direction showing him all my bugs, (usually a bigger collection in anticipation of his scrutiny) my tree houses, my room....

One such summer we sat out in lawn chairs under the cherry tree eating cherry after cherry until grandpa happened to look at one he'd bitten into and saw a worm. We broke open a bunch more to find every cherry had a worm. I thought the day turned out great since I followed a disgusted grandpa to the bathroom and saw him whip out his teeth and give them a good scrub. The day has lived on in infamy with me getting the blame for the worms somehow. He never ate another cherry from that day on.

And if the anticipation for their arrival was huge, the trips to Seattle were somehow bigger. The first thing I wanted to do, with out fail, every single summer was to drag grandpa to the beach to hunt for crabs under the rocks. With one exception. The first time we did this routine, and the start of a tradition I still carry on with out him. I was unsure of the creepy things he would toss in my bucket so he had to trick me into holding one of the ugly little creatures by telling me he'd found a crayon. After the initial thoughts of betrayal and disgust I was hooked to our sport ever after.

Grandpa was a pool shark. Shooting pool with grandpa seemed to be a rite of passage in his house. As a kid I thought it was so unfair when I couldn't play with the Big Boys. Grandpa would take pity on me, as I loafed on the window sill looking as sad as I could, and let me take his turn once in awhile. He showed me how to play the family favorite, Bottle pool. I still wish I had him over my shoulder whenever I play because I do so much better with him calling my shots for me and dishing out praises when I'd sink a difficult shot. "Beautiful." he'd mutter. I lived for those shots. I can only remember one time ever winning grandpa fair and square and he tried to bribe me into keeping quiet but I was upstairs before he had a chance to open his wallet, telling all who would listen.

Grandpa lives on forever in my love for the smell of freshly cut wood, my love for the beach and anything with four legs or more. He'll live on forever in every memory of perfect summer evenings with Perry Komo and the likes playing in the background and sunflower seeds with every meal. I'll think of him anytime I use the term 'dipping eggs' and every time I see a western paperback by Lousis Lamour, and anytime I use a rubber band for a book mark. I'll think of him any time I golf, and laugh at his big dream of me becoming a LPGA star.

Grandpa hated tomatoes, except on steak, which taught me something. There is an exception to every rule. Grandpa, you are my hero. Love you forever.