It’s the only “real” picture we’ve put up. There are paintings I’ve done, things I’ve painted that Simon adores, but it’s the picture of my grandfather that I find myself looking at.
He was the story-teller in my family, the one that brought the past to life for his grandchildren. It wasn’t until I was much older that I realized Uncle Dan Christian wasn’t alive in my papaw’s lifetime. That’s what my sister and I called him, that’s what he stayed with once the other grandchildren came along. Papaw told us stories about Dan and Mose (Moses) Christian, about his father, his own lifetime growing up in West Virginia during the Great Depression, and later about his time in Korea.
He was the one that brought the world to life with words and taught me that a good story will keep everyone entertained. He also taught me how to be a good person and that being a good person didn’t mean sitting in a church pew every Sunday, although it wouldn’t hurt you if you did.
Now, I look up at a picture of a man that made mistakes in his life, but learned from them, and miss him dearly. All I have left of him are my memories and pictures. It’s the memories that comfort me on the days when I want nothing more than to sit down at a table with him and eat pinto beans and cornbread. Even if he frowned at the way I ate them: cornbread broken up into a bowl with the beans, and maybe some spinach mixed in, liberally covered in ketchup.
And it’s his picture that reminds me of where I came from, who I came from, and why I can’t give up and wallow in depression or anxiety. Because I can wallow in both like I invented it. He’s the one that taught me that stories can make you smile, make you laugh, or make you cry. I miss the man that everyone called John L., but he lives in my heart and always will. And maybe, he’ll live in my stories one day, too. I’m just not sure I can capture all that he was with a few words. I’ll see what I can do.