Melange of Memories

My sister called me last night to tell me that my grandfather passed away. He was 91.

Last time I visited him, he still had my sister's and my chicken-scratch drawings from childhood posted above his bed. He was also excited about a fish bone he had found.

He loved telling me this story: when I was a baby, my family offered me a huge plastic gold nugget and a small, real gold nugget to play with. I ignored the huge plastic one and went for the real gold, and my grandfather would say what a smart baby I was.

Even though my grandmother cooked, my grandfather always seemed to be the one in the kitchen when my family visited. He always cooked sea slugs, a delicacy. In the mornings, he would wake up before anyone else and bring back oily sticks, fried pancakes, and hot soy milk. His advice: Drink lots of water, don't drink too fast, and fold your toilet paper into squares. He walked faster than anyone else in the family.

When I didn't hog the television watching Looney, Looney, Looney, a Bugs Bunny movie, he would watch Chinese opera.

He had a strong Shandong accent, and I couldn't always understand what he said. Sometimes I heard him being impatient with other family members, but he was always smiling and kind towards my sister and me. He collected new Taiwanese stamps and said the collection was for us.

I used to sleep in the same bed as my grandfather when we visited. But one day, I had decided that I was old enough to sleep on my own. My aunt let me sleep on her single bed. I sleepwalked back to my grandfather's. I woke up and I cried out, "Who moved me? Who moved me?!" My grandfather had been so happy to see that I had returned in the middle of the night. I was sorry I had to disappoint him.

When I started working as a technical editor, I called him and explained my job. I told him that my English was better than most Americans'. He chuckled. He wanted me to get a Ph.D. A J.D. is good enough, I think.

He was a wonderful grandfather.