Shortly after I moved to China I noticed something that is hard to explain but most definitely tangible for me which is that all these old, retired Chinese men who spend their days and evenings around the neighborhood where I live somehow all remind me of my grandfather.
I guess it is the manner in which they do simple things together like play games such as chess, mah jongg, or cards. But I think the biggest reason they remind me of him is in the way they just talk and laugh with the people around them and seem to enjoy life so much. A simple sort of conversational joie de vive that always strikes me as so similar to my grandfather's own. Because of all this my grandfather never seems to be too far from me when I look at these people in this far away place who have no connection to him or me but yet make me think of him just the same.
This morning I was told that my grandfather died. He was 90 years old and his name was James Bernard Hughes.
Because of time, distance, and expense, I can't attend the funeral and I feel really bad about that because I'm his oldest grandchild and just feel like I should be there. The last time I saw him was a spring day almost two years ago when I went to their place in California as my grandparents prepared to move back to Michigan and I prepared to move to China. I went to visit them for what I knew would likely be the last time. We shared many laughs on that visit like we always did and so when I slowly drove away I decided I was glad that was how I would last remember seeing him which makes me feel better from all the way over here to have that pleasant good-bye memory, along with many, many other wonderful memories of him.
As things have turned out I will be spending a little more time in China then I had originally intended even though right now I would rather be home again in California. But at least when I see the old men who populate almost every street that I walk over here, I can continue to see them as the reminders of my grandfather they are to me and feel like I get to spend a little more time with him.
***
I stood there all by myself on the drenched grass of the battlefield in the darkness and pouring rain. Not a living soul in sight. A light in the distance gave the place a faint but other worldly glow and added to the melancholy feel of the night. As I took in the moment and the satisfaction of my small victory, I reached for my cell phone and called my grandfather.
My grandfather was a major Civil War amateur historian. While to be perfectly honest I was never terribly interested in that particular conflict myself, even though I wrote a senior thesis as part of my history minor on it in part due to his influence, I paid visits to many battlefields during the time in my life where I traveled for a living and had such opportunities. Every time I visited one I would call my grandfather.
This particular one seems special now because it was in no way easy or even at the time seemingly worth all the hassle. I was working with a school district in a town called Carlyle near Harrisburg Pennsylvania for a couple of days and the Gettysburg National Historic Battlefield was a long way from both the school and my dry hotel room as a major weather system soaked the area.
The first night I journeyed to the site I had only a vague idea where I was going and if anyone has ever driven in rural Pennsylvania in the dark of night knows how confusing that can be. I became completely lost that first night and ended up disappointed and having to turn and go back to where I was staying feeling a bit defeated.
The next day while working with the tech staff of the school I told someone of my desire to see the battlefield and why and along my frustrations of the previous night and that I only had one more chance left to try. An extremely nice man named Mike who his colleagues wrongly described to me when he was out of the room as bitter, came back from his lunch break with an incredibly detailed map drawn out for me from the town to the battlefield and I have always been appreciative of a relative stranger taking the time to do such a thing even though I am sure it meant very little to him. He even gave me his phone number to call in case I became hopeless disoriented again.
After work that day I set out on my quest and while despite the well detailed map, I still got turned around a couple of times along the winding roads in the dark of night and the pouring rain. No matter what though, I was determined to see the battlefield if only for a minute and surprise my grandfather with a call to tell him where I was that night. A determination to succeed at all things both big and little in life that I probably owe in part to him.
My grandfather was the epitome of success to me having lived through the Great Depression and World War II. He raised a family of five while running a successful real estate business in Ypsilanti Michigan. His subsequent retirement which was mostly how I knew him is nothing short of the definition of the American Dream as he spent his resting days traveling the world with my grandmother and his springs, summers, and autumns hosting over cocktail hour while sitting on the soft, manicured grass of his backyard while the breeze gently rattled the leaves of the shade trees like quiet music from above. Winter was often spent in Florida playing golf in the warm sunshine.
The constant rain tapped the roof and windshield of my rental car as I brought it to a slow stop on the wet black road finally having reached my destination. I stepped out of the car and as the dome light slowly faded I was washed in the darkness and rain of the cold mid November night.
I didn't really know what I was seeing. I hardly knew where I was, but I had made it to the battlefield where I spent probably a grand total of 10 minutes of my time that long night. I don't remember our conversation anymore, but I was glad to have made it there for that brief surprise phone call with him to tell him where I was.
This is probably not a the best of stories I have of him, I have many others that are much simpler and much more fun, but this one sticks out for me because it is a reminder to me of the influence we have on each other in life both good and bad and whether we like it or not. It reminds me how the little passions we have sometimes rub off on the people around us and whether we know it or not compel us to do things that sometimes just can't be explained but somehow end up as treasured memories and reminders of the people we love.
