“If they don’t want to hear about my grandchildren, they shouldn’t come talk to me." It's the thing I've heard him say that seems to sum him up the best: loving, unafraid to tell it like it is, and a maybe a tad bit braggadocious. He loved his family deeply and with grit. In fact, he once punched a shetland pony named Trigger IN THE FACE. Trigger had kicked my grandmother, and Granddaddy was not going to let him get away with that. 

At 96 years old, Granddaddy could still remember the names of every single one of his teachers and every line item on decades of tax returns. We once gave him a cane with an American flag print that we'd snagged at Marshall's, and from then on, we never saw him without it. If you talked to him for five seconds, you'd hear him brag about a son or a grandkid or a great-grandkid, and if you didn't want to hear about those things, well, that was irrelevant. My daughter Adelaide was born on his 93rd birthday, and for all three of her birthday parties, Granddaddy let me stick a birthday hat on his head and sing to them both. At her first birthday party, he brought a big bouncy ball in a Walgreen's bag, and Adelaide liked it better than all the other presents combined.

Granddaddies are special. I suppose it's not surprising for a 96-year-old man to die, but we still feel surprised about it because he's always been around. Death is a normal part of life, but it never feels like it. We are heartbroken because our time with him was so very sweet, and we've never known anything different. We will miss him in all the ordinary moments, like at Sunday lunch when everyone rattles off their drink order and Granddaddy would ask for water. Then, like an afterthought (even though it never was), he'd inevitably and very specifically add, "very little ice" using his thumb and forefinger to show just how much is "very little," in case there was any question. 

Like Russell said in Up (the saddest movie of all time), "That might sound boring, but I think the boring stuff is the stuff I remember the most." May we learn to treasure the ordinary moments, because that's where legacies are forged.

(More treasures below if you'd like to reminisce with me about the man tough enough to punch a pony and soft enough to wear an embroidered birthday hat when his granddaughter asks.)

My favorite email he's sent:

I think it is about time to remind my Grand Children, about my $1.00 date and the name of the boy, that still owes me $4.50.

The first Girl I ever dated was named, Geraldine Harkey, she lived on East Main Street, Sharon, Tn., on the North side of the street. She lived in a big white house, with the front porch floor painted blue. Had a porch swing and two rocking chairs. Back in those days, the Country Boys dated Country Girls and the City Boys dated City Girls. Here I am a Country Boy dating a City Girl. I think I was either in the 12th Grade or had just finished. It would be 1939. The Harkey's Families were some of the early Settlers in that area.

Now how I blew $1.00 on my date.

• Gasoline was 17 or 18 cents per gallon        $0.25
• Chewing Gum                                                $0.05
• One box of pop corn, we shared                    $0.05
• Two Movie tickets @25 cents each                $0.50
  Total                                                                $0.85

That left me with $0.15 cenys and I would go by Mrs. Pentecost Cafe and buy one of the largest hamburger, you have ever seen, the meat would be hanging off of the bun for $0.10 cents, that left me with $0.05 cents and I would blow that on a bottle coke. I have been asked why I did not take my date to eat with me, it is simple I only had $1.00.

Now, name of the boy, that stills owes me $4.50. His name is Walter Loggins, he wanted to double date with me, but did not have any money and I would loan him, I loaned him $1.50 three different times and he never paid me back. Have often wonder how I came up with the $4.50. For as I can remember this is the whole truth. ACP

Alvin Carter Powers, March 21, 1921 - November 1, 2017