The Best Man

I wrote this blog the day after Pap's birthday this year. I'm not sure what took me a month and a half to post it, but here it is...

January 30, 1936. 

That is the day that the best man I've ever known was born. 

That man is my grandfather, Richard Charles Spine. 

Although I've mentioned Pap quite a lot in previous posts I don't believe I've ever written one specifically about him, which is shameful seeing as he's one of the more influential men in my life. So here's to you, Pap. Hopefully this post can capture even a fraction of how grateful and inspired I am by you.

I can't say I remember the first time I was consciously aware of Pap being my grandfather. You know how sometimes you're able to recount your first memory with a person? I can't do that with him, but maybe that's because in my 20 (almost 21) years of life I've been through so much with him. 

I do remember some of the earliest memories coming from Herbst Road, though. Memories filled with the smell of roses, the taste of lemonade, and the sight of my beautiful grandmother, Nan. I remember the tennis ball hanging in the garage to show the previous generation's drivers how far to pull in. I remember the glass kitchen table where we'd play go fish, the backyard where we'd play wiffle ball from time to time, and I remember the basement. Herbst Road was a magical place. It wasn't anything grand or gaudy, it was old-fashioned and comforting. 

Perhaps my first memory with Pap comes from watching "The Pink Panther" movies together. (The old ones with Peter Sellers not Steve Martin.) Every time I came over he would tell me to pick what movie I wanted to watch, so little me would walk over to the movie cabinet behind the couches and come back with one of the Pink Panther movies. We had to have watched those movies 50 times, but Pap was a good sport. He'd never tell me to pick something else. Instead, he'd sit on the floral couch while I sprawled out on the floor, and tougher we would laugh until we cried at the bumbling Chief Inspector Jacques Clouseau. 

If there is one thing in this world Pap enjoys, it's a good movie. 

Aside from memories of Herbst Road I remember my first (and really my only) golf instructor being my grandpa. I'm sure I remember having a set of those plastic golf clubs as a young child. And as soon as I was old enough to be trusted with metal clubs, I had them. Thanks to him. He would take my small, childish self out to Chartiers in the early evening some afternoons, after the other golfers had finished, and we would walk a few holes and he'd let me play. He never got frustrated with me at that age. 

However, as I've grown I've seen him become perturbed when I get upset on the course. I'm very much like my grandfather in the sense that I want to be the best and I expect to do well every time I step on the course. However, when you only get to play a few rounds of golf a year you can't expect to break 80, but I still expect that. So I get mad and then Pap gets upset. And that's the worst. On another note, it blows my mind how I can manage to outdrive him by 100 yards and still finish a stroke behind him on every hole. I guess it comes down to, "Drive for show, putt for go," as he always says. 

In Chartiers there's a plaque with his name on it for winning some sort of event that the club has. I love looking at that plaque because even though Pap isn't the flashiest golfer, he is one of the hardest working golfers, and that plaque gives him his due credit. Each time we meet up in the summer he has at least one article clipped from a golf magazine that he thinks will help me. (They never seem to, but that's my fault not his.)

It's our little bond, golf that is, and I hope I never take it for granted. Because I know that one day I won't be able to play with him anymore. And I expect that'll be one of the saddest days of my life. 

But sad days and Pap don't really go together. 

Only happy days. 

If there's anybody on this earth who deserved true love it's Pap. And he found it in Nan. And even in losing her he found it again a short time later with Joyce. I think that some remarriages are meant specifically to fill a void, but that isn't Pap and Joyce. They don't pretend to always get along. They're real. They bicker and fight and make up and love and laugh. They also golf together which provides some comic relief when Pap hits a rogue shot and it's Joyce's fault for not knowing where it went. Joyce can take it though. She just rolls her eyes at him and drives off in search of the missing ball. 

If there are two things Pap has taught me in life it's how to work hard and how to joke around.

Pap has always had at least two jobs. He's told me stories about hitchhiking to work at 5 in the morning and not getting home until 12 am the next day. Even in college, with a wife and kid, he managed to work a job to help support them. Pap has accumulated a lot of wealth in his years, and yet he manages to be frugal and never forget how things were when money was tight.

Pap enjoys his money, don't get me wrong. He enjoys taking wonderful vacations all across the world, but he deserves at least that for everything he's done. But he'll never hesitate to bring a coupon for a dollar off a loaf of bread. (Maybe it's just the business man inside him.) I guess he just doesn't see the point in spending more than you have to. Especially since you worked for that money. 

You know that plaque I mentioned earlier? There's another plaque, or maybe even two of them. They're in the basement of the house on Bayard. They're plaques thanking him for his philanthropy. One is complete with a drawing from the Make-a-Wish kid who's wish Pap helped grant. 

He taught me that too. Give back to people who need it.

But I digress from my earlier point about jokes. Pap LOVES jokes. He loves telling "dirty" jokes like this one... "Wanna hear a dirty joke?" ..."a pig fell in the mud."

Now granted, that is by far one of his cheesiest jokes, but you get the point. Pap lives to make people laugh. 

Pap's laugh isn't one of those over-the-top, feigned laughs. It's just a chuckle. Short, sweet, sincere, and honest. Pap won't pretend like your jokes are funnier than the are. He's not here to butter you up. He's here to give you his honest opinion of things. 

Like his honest, totally unbiased opinions of his grandkids and they skill sets...okay so maybe I'm not the best outfielder he's ever seen play, but I'll be damned if he's ever said that to me. In his eyes I'm the best there is, just like Maura's the best field hockey player in the nation, Jenny the best cheerleader, Jarrett the best runner, John the best goalie, Emily the best singer, Joey the best mind. The point is that none of us are actually the best, but Pap would never let you think that way. His unwavering support is seen in his attendance of sporting events (no matter what the weather) and in his words of encouragement. Pap is a realist, but he'll never crush your dreams. 

I remember how excited he was when I got into Fordham and how understanding he was when I said I wanted to leave. 

He wasn't disappointed in me. He just wanted what was best for me, whatever would make me happiest. 

And now as I near 21 I'll be able to partake in one of Pap's other great passions, drinking wine. To Pap wine is a complement to food, it's a history, it's a talking point, and it's an investment. Whenever I get a chance I go over and help him sort and take inventory of his wine I always go.  I'll ask him about wine that I already know the story of just because I like to hear him tell it again. His stories, no matter how many times he tells them, always come with the same passion and excitement they did the first time. Pap's wine comes from far and wide. Some bought before I was born, some gifted to him from winery owners, and others, well others we don't even know how they got there. 

Pap has taught me so much that I can't even begin to relay it all to you in this blog. But I'll give you a few lessons I've learned from my experiences with him.

I've learned that a shot from the rough isn't a hindrance, it's an adventure. I've learned that a tap in putt still needs to be taken as seriously as a 25 footer. I've learned that you can shoot a 95 and still have a great day on the course. I've learned that convenience=cost. And I've learned that an old man can still whoop his grandson by just being smarter.

This blog is scrambled and it isn't pretty, but it is from the heart. 

I'll leave you with a quote I think describes to my grandfather and a song that always reminds me of him.

Of him... the best man I've ever known.

“If you wish to glimpse inside a human soul and get to know a man, don't bother analyzing his ways of being silent, of talking, of weeping, of seeing how much he is moved by noble ideas; you will get better results if you just watch him laugh. If he laughs well, he's a good man.” 

NP: My Way-Frank Sinatra