Grandfather's Gift

Morris Pettit, my Grandfather, would have turned 94 today. I always tried to ensure delivery of his birthday gifts on the actual date because, in spite of his unfailing patience in every other aspect of his life, when it came to opening presents, he just couldn't wait. His own timing for deliveries, however, has always seemed perfect.

At the end of his memorial service last month, a member of his church came up to me as I was packing up items from a table of memorabilia and said, "I always admired your grandparents so much. I remember telling your grandmother what a marvelous example their marriage was to all of us. She told me, 'Well, it's easy if you're married to an angel!'..." I smiled, and thanked her, and she walked away.

As I returned to my task at hand, a tiny box fell out of the wad of tissue paper I was holding. I had been through all the items on the table many times in the weeks before the service, and had never seen this box. I opened it... and inside was a tiny cherub. Surely, it was a gift he had purchased for my grandmother and stowed away for safe keeping. But it landed in my lap instead, just when I most needed an angel.

To me, it's proof that the gifts will always keep coming, if you are open to receiving them...

Gone from My Sight...

Morris Winham Pettit

October 23, 1918 – August 16, 2012

Gone from My Sight

I am standing upon the seashore. A ship, at my side,

spreads her white sails to the moving breeze and starts

for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength.

I stand and watch her until, at length, she hangs like a speck

of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.

Then someone at my side says, "There, she is gone."

Gone where?

Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in mast,

hull and spar as she was when she left my side.

And, she is just as able to bear her load of

living freight to her destined port.

Her diminished size is in me -- not in her.

And, just at the moment when someone says, "There, she is gone,"

there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices

ready to take up the glad shout, "Here she comes!"

And that is dying...

Henry Van Dyke

The True Gentleman

My Grandfather, 93, had a stroke last week which landed him in the hospital and then at the skilled nursing facility in his retirement community. He didn't allow anything of this unfortunate circumstance to deprive him of his gracious spirit, his hopeful outlook, or the twinkle in his eye. Obviously, you can't keep a good man down.

He is adored by everyone who knows him, and described as "sweet," "charming," "devoted," "faithful," and "love in action." But what people say to me most often is, "Your grandfather is a true gentleman." It reminds me of a verse I first heard a few years back, a description which suits him to a tee:

The True Gentleman

The True Gentleman is the man whose conduct proceeds from good will and an acute sense of propriety, and whose self-control is equal to all emergencies; who does not make the poor man conscious of his poverty, the obscure man of his obscurity, or any man of his inferiority or deformity; who is himself humbled if necessity compels him to humble another; who does not flatter wealth, cringe before power, or boast of his own possessions or achievements; who speaks with frankness but always with sincerity and sympathy; whose deed follows his word; who thinks of the rights and feelings of others, rather than his own; and who appears well in any company, a man with whom honor is sacred and virtue safe.

John Walter Wayland

Family Shindig!

Pepper and Debbie are brave enough to have invited the whole Pettit family (21 of us in all) for a reunion at their gorgeous house on Lake Lanier, and Katie outdid herself in planning a wonderful time for us. The oldest member of the family was thrilled to meet the youngest of the bunch today. Nothing beats time spent with the ones you love...

Blasting Off

We took off Monday and haven't slowed down yet: breakfast in California, lunch in Georgia, snacks in Tennessee, and dinner in Alabama, where we've landed for a brief respite. Grandfather treated us to a visit to the Space and Rocket Center, and everyone seemed impressed by what they saw; Jack hasn't stopped talking about the Hubble telescope all day!

The Best Gifts...

, ...aren't under the tree!

The Greatest Love Story Ever Told

My grandparents met in March of 1942 and were married five months later, 67 years ago today. I don't know if it's possible to describe what it was like for me, as a child, to hover in the bright aura of their love for each other. What I can tell you, even though Gigi is among the angels now, is that the glow of that devotion is as bright as ever.

I've heard so many tales of their romance through the years that I can see all the details in my mind as clearly as if I'd been there myself. They never tired of describing their courtship, usually finishing each other's sentences while they held hands. And now my Grandfather regales me with stories I've never heard before, such as the night he first kissed Gigi under the light of a full moon.

Happy Anniversary, Gigi and Grandfather. I think it's no exaggeration to say that yours is one of the greatest love stories ever told; it's certainly my favorite. You said it best with the words to that old song: "I'll be loving you, always. With a heart that's true, always. Not just for an hour, not just for a day, not just for a year, but always, always..."

Heritage

Today, Grandfather and I had wonderful lunch with a few of the other influential grownups in my younger life: "Mama" Bayer (our gracious hostess for a lovely celebration at the Heritage Club), "Uncle" Fred, and "Aunt" Barbara. Although I'm not technically related to any of these fine folks by blood, I wouldn't hestitate to call them family. They play major parts in the stories of my childhood (the ones I can remember, at least!) and always watched out for me just like they did their own kids. It takes a village, as they say, and I had a really good one...

Say It Isn't So

Oh no! Please don't go!

We already miss you so!

It was so nice to have your feet

under our table, Grandfather...

Christmas Cheer

GRANDFATHER'S HERE!!!

The Red Phone

On Veterans Day, my Grandfather was asked to speak about his experience as a career officer, and to tell a story of particular importance during that time -- something that marked his life in the military. This is what he related.

In 1963-64, during the Cold War, Grandfather (a Colonel in the U.S. Army) held the post of Commanding Officer of the 69th Air Defense Group. He was responsible for six HAWK missile battalions (about 3500 troops) in the NATO air defense belt covering a large part of Western Germany. Those missiles were pointed at Russia, so as you can imagine, the situation was tense.

His duties required a Red Phone, that ubiquitous symbol of power and fear, firmly planted on his nightstand (If the Russians started any funny business, Grandfather needed to be among the first to know). His boots were by the bed, and if the Red Phone rang, my grandmother was supposed to get my then-13-yr-old uncle in the car and hightail it to Italy. The gas tank was never supposed to be less than half full, and the bags were always packed.

His Red Phone was regularly tested, but it only rang for real one time, in the middle of the night. The call was from Cheyenne Mountain and the voice at the other end of the line belonged to an Air Force General with NORAD, so obviously, it was a matter of international importance. That General was my Granddad, and he had called to tell my Grandfather the news of my birth in Colorado Springs!

Now, that's a war story I can love.

(when Grandfather told me this story the other day, it reminded

me of another Red Phone story I saw in Smithsonian magazine,

entitled My Cold War Hang-Up. It's pretty funny,too.)