Remembering Grandpa

May 2007

This morning Lissie asked to watch some dvd’s that had slideshows of old(ish) pictures.  The first one was of her 1^st birthday photo shoot, and afterwards she pointed to another one and said “Now let’s watch this one.”  It was “The Life of a Utah Man,” a slideshow that the Hoods had put together about the life of my grandfather, William Clay (Grandpa, to me).  So we both sat together on the couch and watched, and I pointed out to her “That’s Grandma Clay.  That’s Grandpa Clay.  That’s your grandma when she was little...”  After about the first 15 minutes, she was ready to play with toys again, but she had gotten me thinking.  I’m not entirely convinced that it was a coincidence that she wanted to watch that dvd today.  My grandpa passed away in 2007, and it turns out that his birthday is this week, February 21.  So I am especially grateful for my daughter’s little request today, and I felt impressed to just write (or type, as it were) some of my memories of my awesome grandpa. 

Of course many of my earliest childhood memories are of visits to what we always lovingly called “Grandma’s House,” sometimes for holiday celebrations, sometimes just to visit and play outside on their acres and acres of land.  I can remember climbing up on Grandpa’s lap and feeling safe and loved while he held me.  I’m sure he talked to me but I have no idea what was said.  I do know that both my grandma and grandpa Clay always made me feel loved and special when I was with them, and I have no doubt that they did so and continue to do so with each of their grandchildren today.   

I remember playing games together sometimes when gathered at Grandma’s House, and how when we played Encore, I felt so lucky to be on Grandpa’s team because it seemed like he knew every song ever written!  I remember his voice as he sang lines of various songs.  Grandpa loved music.  Actually that feels like a giant understatement.  Music was and has always been a HUGE part of our family, for as long as I can remember, and I know that much of that love for music was passed on to us by Grandma and Grandpa Clay.  It seems like we could (and still can) hardly gather as a family without one of them asking us to sing a song or play a musical instrument for them.  I am grateful for the love of music which they helped to instill in my life. 

With my cousin Michael, August 1996

Some of my other childhood memories are kinda foggy and I may be remembering wrong.  (If I am, someone can help me out and please correct me.)  I am pretty sure I remember celebrating my Grandpa’s birthday one year and as the candles were being put on the cake, one of my aunts or uncles asked how old we thought Grandpa was.  I am pretty sure I said “26,” and that everyone who was old enough to know better had a good laugh.  Afterwards it seems like somehow Grandpa was always turning 26 on his birthdays. 

Another time, I remember going to the beach for what I’m pretty sure was a Clay family reunion, and we had rented a beach house (well, at least one… )  Our trip coincided with Father’s Day that year, so I remember everyone sitting in the largest room of the house and someone (probably my Grandma Clay) suggesting that we go around the room and everyone share one reason they loved Grandpa.  I thought of what to me was a really ‘good one,’ and asked to go first so that no one else would steal it!  I am pretty sure I said “I love Grandpa because he is the President of the United States!”  Then everyone laughed and I couldn’t understand why.  I was completely serious!  I don’t know how long it was before I realized that he was not the president of the country, but actually the Stake President, of the Kingsport TN Stake.  (I think my grandpa would have been a great US President, just for the record.)

Salt Lake City, August 1996

I’ll skip ahead a few years now, to when I was getting ready to start my Senior year of high school, and my grandparents invited my cousin, Amy, and I to go on a road trip with them to Utah.  Grandpa drove the entire way, and with few stops, as I recall.  And I believe that throughout the majority of those 40ish hours we were introduced to many songs by one of my grandpa’s favorite groups, the Ink Spots.  Not my first choice in music as a teenager, but of course now it is hard to hear any of their songs and not think of Grandpa and that trip. It was my first Utah trip that I was actually old enough to remember, and everywhere we went we visited with family. First stop – Kansas City with the Hawkins.  Next - Utah, with family gatherings nearly every day at someone’s home.  Rachel & Robin, The Angles, the Wilsons, the Swallows, the Tom & Phyllis Clays, …  and my grandparents perpetually smiling as they introduced us to each of our previously unknown (or at least not well-acquainted) relatives.  They took us on our first tour of Brigham Young University campus on that trip.  While I had always thought of going there after high school, visiting with my grandparents and seeing the beauty of the campus first hand was what really sealed the deal.  I didn’t even want to apply to other colleges.  Of course they also took us on our first visit to Temple Square in Salt Lake City.  I was in awe of the intricate details on the temple itself, as well as the other buildings there.  I was amazed as I sat on a bench toward the back and heard the pin drop at the front of the old Tabernacle.  We toured many other sights and learned so much about our heritage, both that of the Clay family and of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.  And I won’t forget our quick stop at "Boot Hill," Dodge City, Kansas.  (Grandpa loved his Westerns.)  We walked into an old-style saloon, sat at the bar, and Grandpa informed us that in these kinds of places, we had to ask (in our best ‘old west’ accent) for a ‘Sa-a-a-a-rsaparilla.’  That is the first time I can remember tasting a Sarsaparilla.  I honestly couldn't have told you what one was previous to that experience.  I learned that it is a soft drink, a lot like root beer.   Quite tasty.  Grandpa was right.  Of course.

As I started college and was travelling back and forth between home in Virginia and school in Utah, I spent less and less time at ‘Grandma’s House.’  Every time I did visit, Grandpa always made it a point to sit down and talk with me about how everything was going.  He asked about my classes and about my plans for the future.  He gave me advice which was generally spot-on.  And he would say, “Now Jennifer Lynn, I know that one of these days – and of course there’s no hurry – you’ll probably find a nice guy that will want to marry you.  And when you do, you make sure he knows that he has to call your grandfather to ask permission.  He can ask your dad too, if he really wants, but you tell him that Grandfather’s permission is what really matters.”  And when I did get engaged, my future husband did not follow this protocol.  The next time I saw my grandpa, he said something like this:  “Jennifer Lynn, I don’t know about this engagement of yours.  You know he never called me to ask my permission.  And you know that it’s Grandfather’s opinion that really counts, right?”  (Yes Grandpa.)  “Now are you sure he’s a good guy?  He’s from Brazil, right?  Well, just as long as he doesn’t steal you away and run off to South America with you… You tell him that you need to live close to your grandparents and your family, so none of that moving to Brazil nonsense.”  (I tried, Grandpa!  Really, I did!)  I knew that he was partly teasing and probably a bigger part serious, but again, I always left our little conversations feeling safe and loved, just as I had as a young child.

To know my grandpa Clay was to know that you were loved.  There were always plenty of hugs and kisses to go around, and I have very few memories in which I didn’t see him with one or more grandchildren sleeping happily, peacefully on his lap.  In fact, in addition to my 50-some cousins and I, somehow we always ended up with extra ‘cousins’ (Motters, Hebberts, …) whom he always welcomed and made feel like family.  I think I was convinced that they were family, and still think of them as such.  Sometimes I think how much I wish he was still here to hug on my own children, so that they too can feel that peace and love that I felt as a child.  But knowing Grandpa, I’m sure they already do, and that they have been held in his arms long before they come to mine.  I love my grandpa Clay, and I know that while he is missed tremendously, he will never be forgotten.