Grandpa Himel, I didn't forget about you!

Readers of my previous post may have been fooled into thinking I spent my entire childhood at my paternal grandparents' house. The truth is I spent a lot of time at my maternal grandparents' as well. But if I spent a lot of time with my Grandma Ruth (Eseltine), I spent just as much time with my Grandpa Himel.

My grandfather grew up poor in Louisiana, having to quit school in 7th grade and work the fishing boats to help support his family. Like my other Grandfather, my Grandpa Himel (pronounced e-mel in Louisiana) served in WWII and, like my other grandfather, was discharged in the Bay Area where he met my grandmother and raised a family. Despite having only a 7th grade education, he achieved a career as a machinist at the Lawrence Livermore Laboratory.

All of that didn't matter much when I was a kid. What did matter was his garage. The garage, which doubled as a workshop, seemed to house every tool imaginable. My brothers and I learned to use a band saw, a table saw, a drill press and even a lathe under his tutelage. But it wasn't the skills we aquired in that garage, it was the fun we had. My grandfather prided himself on the toys he made to give as gifts at the holidays. From the whirlygigs and wooden neck ties to toy trains and customized wall mounts to hang bats and gloves, my grandfather was always in action. And were his workers.

What seems amazing now is the patience he must have had to watch over my brothers and I while we worked the heavy machinery. The thought of band saws and children's fingers could frighten off even the bravest of souls, yet he never faltered. I am proud to say I still possess many of my creations from those afternoons in the shop, as well as all of my fingers.

I mentioned that my grandfather was from Louisiana and during my childhood that really meant only one thing. Gumbo. My grandfather was a pretty good cook and he convinced or tricked me into eating a lot of tradtional cajun fare, from frog's legs to turtle soup, but Gumbo was his speciality. It was my personal, and I imagine other family member's, saving grace during family gatherings and no one has come even close to repeating the recipie since his death.

I was a sophomore in high school when he died following surgery to remove a brain tumor. He had survived colon cancer and a previous brain tumor and maybe that was why everyone seemed so optimistic prior to the surgery. I was not. Brain surgery sounded big and I guess it was. Is it just a coincidence that a guy who worked at a lab that performed cold war nuclear testing contracted cancer three times? Maybe, maybe not, but my mother's family was never quite as close after his death. Being from the South, family was the most important thing in life to my grandfather and with his death, a big part of his family died with him. We have grown back together in the years since, but it will never be quite the same.

My grandfather was my first close family member to die. I'll never forget seeing his lifeless body during the viewing the night before the funeral. It was the most frightening thing I had seen up until then. At that point, death became something real to me rather than just an abstract idea. I guess what really saddens me is that I never got to know him as an adult like I did with my other grandfather. But we did have a lot of fun.