Grandude. The one and only.

Papa.  Grandpa.  These are normal names for a grandfather.  But my sister and I were fortunate enough to have had one just a little different: the one and only... Grandude.  { He and Grandmomma went to the beach with us once when we were little, he wore a cowboy hat, and the name stuck.  Grandude it was. }

{ We were seriously buds. }

Mom is an only child, thus Kates and I were his only two grandchildren.  And, of course, he spoiled us rotten.   I owe probably half my embarrassingly extensive childhood Barbie collection to this man.  And the Christmas I turned four and got the pink Power Wheels Barbie Corvette { complete with now-old-school-then-super-cool console cell phone, natch }?  I proceeded to back over his foot in the living room and he didn't bat an eye.

Grandude let me and Katie have Easter Egg Hunts in the yard all year long.  And we're still finding sun-faded plastic eggs now decades later.  He'd walk with me to take my pretend friend Sodey { Sodie? I don't know, I couldn't spell when I was four and I'm not so good at it now } to the "bus stop" aka the corner.  And once, when a man at the airport asked me how I'd know who was my grandaddy when he got off of the plane, I told the man it was because Grandude could take his teeth out.  { What?  That's an unusually identifiable characteristic when you're four! }

So you see, the man is a legend in his own right.  I always said I didn't know what I'd do without him.  He was invincible in my mind; even though he was famous for saying, "You know, I ain't gon' be around here always."  And he was right.

Four years ago today he went to be with Jesus.  And when I do the same one day, I can't help but think that our reunion will look something like this:

But I'm sure I'll know it's him without the removing of teeth. : )