Besides riding his bike recreationally with my mom and down to the clinic he volunteered at once a week, my dad, Dr. James Graham Crewse, didn’t do any exercise at all. He was tall and muscular, sturdy and just seemed naturally fit. He was an orthopedic surgeon at the renowned Lakeside Memorial Clinic. A thoughtful, systematic and careful man in everything he did, from performing surgeries even down to picking out a paint color for the den. I, according to my mother, was just like him. It drove her and her impulsive nature crazy.
I thought I was more like my Grandma Kay.
“I’m sure PopPop will enjoy his breakfast, Daddy,” I said, not as fully convinced as my mother seemed to be. “He’ll think it’s nice that you shared your creation.”
“That’ll be the day,” my dad said. He pulled a plate out of the cabinet and slid an omelet onto it.
Right in sync, my mother took it from my father’s hands, grabbed the plastic wrap and covered the plate. “Tell your grandfather I’ll stop by before I go down to the shop this morning and see what he needs,” she said, handing me the plate.
“I’m sure this will be fine,” I said. “His morning coffee, his newspaper and”—I held up the plate—“a couple of eggs—”
“Are all he needs to start his day,” the three of us said in unison, and then laughed. That was my grandfather’s mantra.
But even though my grandfather had been saying it for years, my father was right. Not even his morning staples could make him satisfied with how any day went. There were only two things I knew that put a smile on my grandfather’s face, and my father’s cooking wasn’t one of them.
* * *
- - - - -
“I’m not eating this.” PopPop pushed the plate across the table after I had placed it in front of him. Not even bothering to take the plastic wrap off.
My grandfather had met me at the door as I came around the outside of the house to the separate entrance of his living quarters. Already up and dressed like he had a job to go to, he greeted me with a kiss and a smile. It was probably the first one he’d emitted since the last time he saw me.
I was one of the things that put a smile on his face.
I trailed behind him back to the kitchen, where evidently he’d been sitting at the table, probably waiting on me. He knew I wouldn’t start today without a talk with him.
My grandfather was just an older version of my dad (or would that be my dad was a younger version of him?). He was tall, and his daily walks up and down the hilly streets of Chagrin Falls kept him fit. He had a penchant for plaid shirts and wing-tipped shoes and all these years after Grandma Kay’s death, he still wore his wedding ring.
The small kitchen was neat and tidy. His old radio, loudly playing a sports station, went hand-in-hand with his outdated appliances and old tile floor. He hadn’t let my parents remodel his part of the house, saying that those walls knew all about him and they kept him company.
“Why won’t you eat it? It’s what you eat for breakfast every day,” I said, turning down the volume on the radio. He denied it, but I’d swear he was getting hard of hearing. “I brought your newspaper in and”—I eyed the countertop—“I knew you’d already have coffee brewing. That’s everything you need, right?”
“What is that?” He pointed at the plate.
“Eggs. Just like you like.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “I never said I liked eggs like that.” He turned up his nose. “That doesn’t even look like an egg.”
“It’s an omelet,” I said. I grabbed a fork out of the drawer, bumping it shut with my hip. I walked back to the table, slid the plate back in front of him and handed him the utensil. “Something different from the usual scrambled you eat, but you’ve had an omelet before.” I smiled. “And your son made it. You know what a good cook he is.”
He placed the fork on the plate and slid it back across the table. Again. “He should stick to medicine.”
“I bet it’s good.” I sang the words and planted a smile on my face.
“Don’t patronize me, little girl,” he said, and narrowed his eyes at me. He still called me that even though I wasn’t too far from knocking on thirty’s door.
“I’m not,” I said. I knew better. No matter how old I got, PopPop was still my elder—you just didn’t talk back. I was taught to show respect. I bent over and kissed him on his cheek. “I never would.”
“I can make my own eggs, you know,” he said. “I can still take care of myself.”
“I know,” I said. “We all know.” He had told us enough.
PopPop was all about his independence. Although he hadn’t run the ice cream shop since my grandma took sick with early-onset Alzheimer’s and couldn’t be left alone, he always reminded us that even at his age he still could. He said his date of birth wasn’t a hindrance to anything other than the draft, and, he noted, they didn’t even have that anymore.
“So if you know, stop trying to get me to eat that.”
“Okay,” I said. I picked the plate up and put it on top of the stove.
“You opening the store today?” he asked. He already knew the answer, but we both liked talking about it. We had been counting down the days.
“Yes, PopPop. Today’s the day.” I pulled out the chair next to him and sat down. “I’m just sorry it took so long to do.”
“Don’t worry none about that,” he said, and put his hand over mine. “You got it done.”
I nodded. “I got it done.”
“Yes, you have, and you’ve done a better job at it than anyone else could have,” he said, a proud smile on his face. “I walked by it the other day, decided to go inside, and it’s looking just like one of those shops I see in the trade magazines.”
“You saw it?” I said, a grin emerging on my face. “I wanted to wait until everything was ready to give you the grand tour.”
“Looks ready to me.”
“A couple things are still missing.”
“Like making your kitchen see-through?”
“Yeah,” I said, and chuckled. “I want customers to experience just what we’re boasting about. Give them a full view of the love and pride that goes into every handcrafted batch of our frozen creamy goodness.”
PopPop laughed. “But that pales in comparison to that glass wall you put up at the rear of the store overlooking the falls,” he said. “Anybody sitting at one of those tables you put back there is going to get a treat.”