His Softer Side

Sometimes it is difficult to remember the good times with some people. My Papa was just such a man. I have been thinking a lot lately about the man who fell in love with and married Dolly, my Nanny. Unlike Pat, Dolly’s second husband was more suitable to her. Where she was flirtatious and outgoing, he was solid and serious. Where her focus may have been haphazard, his focus was squarely on her. Even though he may not have known how to show it, he loved her so deeply that he must have ached to watch her deteriorate before his eyes knowing that she would never be the woman she once was.

He had a difficult time expressing his love to his children. He was, however, at his best when we were young. He was never better than when he loved my Uncle Mickey, regardless that he was not his biological son. Mickey had been stricken early in life with Meningitis rendering him deaf and mentally impaired. Mickey knew of him only as “Dad.” He would never comprehend, or have the slightest inkling, that Papa was anything less. Maybe Papa loved him because he would always remain a young boy.

Papa and Kathy, my mom, never really saw eye to eye and he could be cruel to her throughout her life. That may be the reason it was so perplexing that he loved me so. He may not have been my biological grandfather but he was nonetheless my Papa. His love for me brought out the best in him. For as long as I could remember he called me his little “Schnootzer.” I never wanted to be far from him. His strong arms would hold me tightly as I would sit on his lap in his favorite chair. He smelled of Old Spice and, for me, he always wore a smile. Maybe I was the escape from his ordinarily disconsolate existence. The family never truly understood the reason for his unhappiness. The creed of our family was not to discuss such matters.

Papa was a paradox of conflicting traits. He could be formidable, severe, unpredictable. At the same time he was also passionate, affectionate, affable. My promise to myself is to honor his memory by recalling the best of him as often as I can. He may have lived a difficult life, laughed not nearly enough and loved a different kind of love. For today, however, I choose to see beyond his faults and remember his softer life, softer laugh and softer love.