Poppie and Peaches

So I have recently been spouting my mouth off. I told a friend that to dwell on the negative is good, but don't let it consume you. If you need vent and release. Do so. But never forget the good or the events that have made you who you are. A unique Child of God. Sometimes I think to say that is crap, but it is truth. The Lord blesses us with events in our lives. Nothing is on accident. Everything has a purpose. You may not understand what it is that you need to understand and learn but in due time you will, if you care to look for meaning.


I wrote this story about three years ago. It was supposed to be just for me. I may have said somethings that others won't like or agree with, but it is mine, sorry if it offends you. I feel that now I am ready to share it....thanks Debbie!

Poppie was a scary man. Especially to me, a young woman who rarely saw him. As a young woman, I was very quiet and observant. I was always aware of my surroundings and questioning what I didn’t understand. One of my few memories of my grandfather, is one that has bought about different meanings.

My parents were never the ideal parents. Even if you were to ask them they would agree. Their methods were to say the least, unorthodox. Growing up in a predominantly Latter Day Saint community, and being a faithful stalwart Latter Day Saint child, you would think that the ideals and morals taught in the church would have been fervently enforced in my household, not so. Both of my parents had previously lived colorful lives prior to their courtship. Some of their early life experiences are easily attributed to how they grew up. My father, never a conversationalist, was raised by a man who could be described as an emotionally challenged workaholic. This description comes from my own personal experiences with a man that always seemed to me to be aloof from his family.

As my family traveled to Washington state to visit with my grandparents, nothing but anguished filled my heart. I was never extremely close to these grandparents. Many would say that it was because of the miles that seperated us, I say that it was because of my grandmother’s ignorance. My mother, having come from a very colorful past, always seemed to intimidate my grandmother. I thought that my mother, with all of her life experiences and conviction, intimidated everyone. She always managed to carry herself with an attitude that said “I am strong, I have seen a lot, and I would be more than willing to help you work your way through life and all of its lessons it if necessary, but I will not prevent you from experiencing them.” My grandmother, I am sure lived a life not free from heartache and pain and life lessons, but was not one to admit them to anyone. My mother was so strong that she would not allow anyone to make her feel differenly about herself than she always felt. My grandmother and my mother never outwardly fought but I could tell that they butted heads. The older I got, I could tell that they rarely saw eye to eye on anything, especially those life lessons. My grandfather on the hand, scared me to death. My mother’s father was a gentle giant. My father’s father was a quiet, cold, condeming man; at least in the eyes of a twelve year old girl.

As we arrived at my grandparents house, my heart sunk. We were in Washington to celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary. I never understood how a woman that talked so much was able to celebrate such a milestone with a man that never seemed to show emotion, especially love. Amidst all of the activities that were planned for the grandchildren, I was constantly babysitting cousins and siblings. One day I was babysitting so many different cousins, that the adults forgot to feed the babysitter. I was dropped off at my grandparents to shower and prepare myself and my siblings for another celebration party. I was not excited. I was the daughter of the quiet son and the outcast, I was not the grandchild that would ever be praised or noticed. As the adults were preparing to leave, my father told me to get going on preparing my siblings for departure and feed myself quickly. He said that there was plenty of food in the storage. After they left and I got the siblings going on showers and hair, I went to the kitchen to look for food in the “storage.” The what? I had no idea what he was referring to. I did not live at this house, nor did I know the house. My knowledge of the house had amounted to about fifteen hours, most of which was spent sleeping.

As I looked around the kitchen, scared to actually open any cupboards, a voice very eerie came up behind me. “ What are you looking for, Katie?” It was Poppie, my scary grandfather. “My dad told me to get something to eat from the storage. I haven’t ate anything today.” I replied scared out of my wits. I am sure that I had heard his voice before, but prior to that moment I don’t ever remember it. He was a man of little words. He never spoke frivously. Without replying he went to the garage door and opened it. He then took a step back and motioned for me to enter. I did as I was told, ever the obedient child. Upon walking through the doorway I noticed nothing unassuming. My grandfather, or Poppie, followed me through the doorway and turned a light on. As soon as the lights came on they engulfed the large garage. I noticed what was meant by storage. It looked as though my grandparents had their own little grocery store in there garage.

Perfectly designed shelves were lining the three available sides of the garage. My other grandfather had tools and other knick knacks in his car port. This garage was overwhelming to look at. As I looked around, in awe and confusion, grandpa said that this was the storage, I could have whatever I wanted. As I tried to look at all the food, I could not help but wonder why two old people had so much canned food, and my family of six had so little? It never made sense to my twelve year old mind. But being twelve years old I had no idea what to choose. A child in a candy store is the best way to describe how my eyes must have been. Scanning all the items. Finally I looked back and noticed that Poppie was right behind me, watching me like a hawk. Nervous, because I knew that he should be out with the other adults, and he was probably watching me because of a mutual apprehension for each other, I hurriedly turned around and grabbed the first can I could, a can of peaches. There was an abundance of everything, but the peaches had but a few cans left.

Fearful for the watching eye of my grandfather or the boogey that always lurked in foreign garages, I hurried back into the house. Poppie, without speaking, went to a drawer and handed me a can opener, a spoon, and then found me a bowl. I then opened the peaches, and went to the table to eat them. While eating them, I felt eyes watching me. I thought that Poppie had left, I heard a door open and then shut. Finally, I turned around and noticed Poppie watching me eat. Confused and scared, I quickly finished and hurried back to my brothers fighting in the bedroom. Poppie watched me the whole time.

The rest of the evening, I spent trying to understand what had happened. So much and yet so little.

The next day I was asked to go out to the storage and grab some tuna fish for lunch. When I went out there, I noticed that the peaches had been restocked and that on the floor of the garage was two cases of peaches. The same size can and brand that I ate the day before. Confused as I entered the house, I became scared and upset again. I did not know why he had told me to choose whatever I wanted and yet when one was choosen he had felt the need to replace them so quickly. Not only replace them he was scared to have them taken again, so he bought more than he or grandma could have ever possibly eaten or needed.

Now that I am older I understand what truly happened that day. It has taken years of thought and understanding, but I think that I have finally come to a conclusion. Even though he was my grandfather and, I, his granddaughter, we were strangers to one another. He grew up in a time that required sacrifice and strength. The depression era was hard on everyone, not just the parents that could not find work. The children experienced hardships, just as the adults. The idea of innocence in children, is a myth. If the parents are learned, so will the children be. If the parents are workers, so will the children be workers. If the parents struggle and have a want, so will the children. My grandfather lived through the great depression of the thirties. He learned to work hard and do what was necessary to support his family. One thing that I am sure he lacked growing up with was the ability to eat what he wanted to, when he wanted it. If he wanted ice cream, he probably was denied ice cream due to its lack of necessity. My grandfather had eight children. Eight is a lot, no matter wealthy or prepared you are to have them. My grandfather worked hard his whole life. I think that when he saw his granddaughter in his garage looking at all of the canned goods like a child in a candy store, he was taken back to all the times that he wanted ice cream and was denied. I think that his desire to prove that he had spent some time with his strange granddaughter and that he knew something about her was evident. Of all the things in the candy store, I choose peaches. And he wanting to prove that he understood both me and what I wanted, he bought as many peaches as he could. Even though at the time I thought it to be a mean gesture, did he really think that I would eat all the cans of peaches that he had? Now I understand what he was trying to do. He was trying to show his love for me and what I wanted. Even though few words were spoken, this remains to be the greatest memory of my grandfather that I have. And he must have known what he was doing. Even now, whether I have been walking past fresh peaches at the produce stand in Chile or notice a random can of peaches, I always think of Poppie and that day. Poppie and peaches will always have a strange but secure place in my heart.