I wish I could stand here today
on behalf of the family and capture every detail of the man we are here to
remember and celebrate. But I know I have neither time nor composure to do all
of their respects and memories justice. So instead, I’d like to capture a bit of
my own personal experience from my borrowed time with the man I knew as “Pawp.”
For those of you who don’t know
me, I am Jonathan Hart, one of Al Manley’s grandchildren. He had been my only
living grandfather since 3rd grade, and we were closer than most
people I know are to their grandfather. For that gift alone I will be eternally
grateful.
I’ll just go ahead and admit that
I was raised an only child and received the usual spoiling thereof. But while
the family made occasional comments and warnings about this, no one seemed to
feel strongly enough to do anything about it. At Christmas and birthdays it was
mainly the fault of my mother and grandmother, but other family pitched in.
Usually not Pawp. His name would be signed on all cards and tags next to my
grandmother’s and I would be quite doubtless that he had no part in picking out
the exact model Bat mobile with all its various components. But as the family
knows, Pawp never feared a spoiled loved one…nor a spoiled dog, for that
matter, evidenced by the continual giving of table scraps along with the
pretend scolding to follow. Pawp did not investigate all 55 items on my
Christmas list and expend the energy to meet every wish.
INSTEAD, virtually every one of
the countless times I would go over to spend the weekend, I would wait for it.
It might not be within the first hour or two, nor perhaps even the first day.
But at some point, Pawp would pull on his Members Only jacket over his tucked
in plaid shirt and slacks…and jingle the familiar keys. I would look up
pretending to be confused through his bifocals into those age-softened Choctaw
Indian eyes and wait for the words. “Son, I need to go to Walmarts. You woanna
go wi’me?” I would quickly stop sword fighting my invisible opponent with my
grand-mother’s wooden spoon or halt work on my cardboard space shuttle to hit
the road with Pawp. While he could find a reason to go to Walmart or Lowes
pretty much any day of the week, he would make up some special excuse to go
when I was there.
He would pretend not to
know where his one needed item was or he would pretend to have several things
to look at knowing that I would love nothing more than a solid 15-20 minutes in
the aisle of action figures. He would always eventually come moseying in from
one side of the aisle taking his time to get to me, smiling and peering at the
package in my hand and say, “Did you find the right one?” As I would nod
beaming he would scrutinize it as if he was actually comprehending what in the
world it was and confirm, “So this is it, huh? Well, we better get it and go.” Each
trip he would make a five-dollar investment into what my Uncle Michael
estimates was my $5000 collection of action figures. And this kind of
investment for all those he loved was absolutely characteristic of my Pawp.
I’ll never forget the day Pawp
pulled over the white extended cab automatic 96 Chevy S-10 pickup on Cottage
Hill Rd and said, “Alright, it’s your turn. Take us home.” At that moment I
realized that Pawp entrusted his life into my hands. He taught many of the
family members to drive, and I believe he would have given his life for us to
learn how to drive because he almost did…several times.
I honestly think he was the most
patient man I’ve ever met. He was also kind and saw the best in people. He
never had a bad thing to say about anybody unless it was a joke, and then he
felt guilty over it for days. And likewise we don’t know of one bad thing
anyone’s ever said about him. Family came first, and he never ever ever passed up
a chance to say or express in some way how much he loved each and every one of
us.
And we’ve been saying goodbye for
as long as I can remember. Because Pawp treated each parting as if it might be
the last, standing in the driveway waving and shouting things at the car window
blowing kisses only to go inside once the car was out of sight. He leaves a
legacy of love, kindness, patience, gentleness, compassion, joy, discipline,
and commitment.
Oh Lord, make us thankful for all these and many other blessings for
your sake and in your name. Amen.
(The prayer in bold at the end is how I chose to close, a prayer Pawp said before every single meal at such a speed few could distinguish the words. He would always chuckle and reply, "He knows what I'm sayin'.")
(The prayer in bold at the end is how I chose to close, a prayer Pawp said before every single meal at such a speed few could distinguish the words. He would always chuckle and reply, "He knows what I'm sayin'.")
