Pieces of Grandpa

My granddad (on my mother's side) was a wonderful man. He and Grandmommy raised only my mother, but when she had us five kids - in quick succession - he took to grandfathering in a, well, grand way.
Granddaddy ran a tight ship in his beautiful San Francisco home. When we came inside, coats went into the closet immediately. No toys, no books, no nothing lying around. A place for everything and everything in its place.
No running in the house.
No yelling.
Naps strictly enforced.
"Please," "thankyou," "you're welcome."
We loved him.
When we got old enough to handle excursions down town, Granddaddy would bundle us into our coats, every button buttoned, and take us onto the streetcars. We'd get off on Market Street. Traffic was heavy and he'd hold the younger one's hands in such a tight grip that our little fingers ached.
It was a different world back then: no homeless wandering around, no panhandling, no bad smells. I'm sure that dangerous people roamed the downtown area, but we didn't suspect every face that passed us.
Granddaddy took us to the big banks so we could hear his simplified explanation of how money is handled. We walked up and down Grant Street, in China Town, pressing our noses against each shop's glass window to gawk at the strange products and foods. Then on to his favorite Chinese restaurant.
He seemed to know everybody downtown so we heard lots of adult conversations that sounded like, "Wa, wa, wa, wa."
Golden Gate Park, Japanese Tea Garden, Natural History Museum, DeYoung Art Musem, Fleischacker Zoo, the Emporium, the Mark Hopkins Hotel, movies at the Fox.
Such excitement, such education for little kids who lived across the bay in a quiet suburb.
After Granddaddy died, I always felt as if all those special memories were wondrous pieces of him for me to keep safely tucked in my heart.

Now I'm the grandparent. Even though my two granddaughters are still in diapers, it won't be long till I'll be presenting experiences, perspectives, books, memories, restaurants, and photo albums of long-gone relatives. All things to enrich their young lives and fill their minds with a sense of history, of connection to people whom they'll never meet, but who, nevertheless, form puzzle pieces that construct the picture of their lives. I want to enrich my grandchildren by showing them that there are other realities down the street or across the world.

I'll tell them how God sought me. How their grandpa (my husband) shared his faith with me. Why I love Jesus so much. I want to show them my mind and heart before the memory of me is lost through time and succeding generations.

I want pieces of me saved in their hearts.