Grandpa Paschall (Dad’s dad) lived into his early 80s, and much to my father’s chagrin, never gave up driving. Grandpa in an oversized Cadillac was pretty much a childhood staple, and he tooled around in one until he landed in a hospital after turning in front of a truck. Had he allowed the doctor to fix his hip, he’d probably have been behind the wheel for a few more years.
Grandma Mary (Dad’s mom and Grandpa’s second wife—and I could fill an entire blog about that) had a similar bent. Except her desire for freedom manifested in random calls to one of my aunts to let her know she was leaving the country for a couple of weeks to teach English abroad. Which means rural villages around the globe exist where everyone speaks English with a distinctive South Texas drawl.
For both, as they grew older, neither was interested in giving up their sense of freedom to roam wherever sounded good. However, in the days before cell phones, this made for a unique set of circumstances. Grandma wasn’t easily reachable wherever she was in the world, but at least she was with other people. On the other hand, Grandpa would disappear from Arkansas with no warning, and we’d have to wait until he showed up somewhere to know he was okay.
To say my dad was irritated is an understatement, even though Grandpa always turned out to be fine. He’d pop up at his brother’s house in New Mexico—like driving from Arkansas to New Mexico solo at the age of 80 was safe to do—and not understand why everyone was so upset.
Yet, as it turns out, the apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree.
While in Denver a couple of weekends ago, I got a text from my sister asking why Dad’s going to New Mexico. Excuse me? He’s doing what? He turns 82 in August, and he’s pulling a Grandpa? At least he let someone know, so that’s an improvement. And we can always locate his iPhone. Before then, we thought of just having him chipped for situations like this.
I hadn’t thought of either Grandpa or Grandma (or that my dad might have inherited their penchant for not sitting still) in a long time. Both passed decades ago, yet somehow that one text managed to bring up those memories.
And in turn, made me wonder what these two people—who thought nothing of taking off at a moment’s notice—would think of the state of personal freedom in America. When people are being snatched off the street—citizen or not—and dropped in detention centers or even foreign countries, personal freedom doesn’t sound so free. However, they both lived through the Japanese internments during World War II, so maybe what’s happening wouldn’t seem so foreign.
But I like to think Grandma would be appalled. For one, if not for Mexican farmhands, a lot of the ranches and farms around our family farm would not have survived—our own included. On top of that, as she grew older, Grandma seemed to take on a more carefree approach to life. If you aren’t hurting anyone, then there isn’t an issue.
I remember introducing her to James when she came up for a visit, and her not batting an eye. She didn’t care. He was part of the family as much as my brother-in-law. Now, I can’t speak about how things were when my dad was a kid. Raising five kids probably took a toll. But as she got older, I do know she felt she had the freedom to lounge around her place naked. It was her house. You had better check before just walking in the door.
A large part of me understands where both Grandpa and Grandma were coming from. Getting older shouldn’t make you feel like you have to give up your freedom. Aging doesn’t require sitting at home, waiting for the Grim Reaper. But we should all feel as though we have that same freedom—that we aren’t looking over our shoulders, waiting for someone to escort us away. Grandma wouldn’t put up with it, and she would be the first to tell us that neither should we.
Whether we’re naked or not.
