One night when I was 5-ish (in kindergarten), I was telling my mom about my friend Brian. He was one of my best buds in kindergarten. We had the following conversation.
Me: Blah, blah, blah..."Brian..."
Mom: "The little black boy in your class?"
Me: "He's not black."
My mom realized that I didn't understand race yet, so she thought she'd take this as a teaching opportunity. She explained to me that people come in all colors, but that "Heavenly Father loves us all the same."
Me: "I know because Grandpa is black."
Mom: "He is?"
See, every year we would go with my dad's side of the family to the beach for a week. My grandparents had usually been there for a week before we got there. They would spend all day sitting on the beach reading, looking for seashells, etc.
And it just so happens that my grandpa is dark complected and tans very well. And of course he's one of those people whose tan hangs around all year long. Whenever I saw him, he was actually darker than my friend Brian. What 5yr old wouldn't make that connection?
Thus, he became known as my black grandpa.
And you say, cute story, but kind of random...
I'm telling you this because he passed away this morning after a long battle with cancer. He was a strong, quiet man. Not one to share much emotion, but I know that he loves his family. I could see it even better when Hailey came along. He was always so excited to hear about her and see her. As an adult, I have had some good opportunities to talk to him and learn more about his and my grandma's life. A few years ago, he wrote his memoirs from WWII, which are priceless, and gave me a look at a part of him that I had never seen before.
I love him dearly. I know he is in a better place, where he will be free from pain and struggle, and will be able to learn more about Heavenly Father's plan for him. I pray for my grandma that she will have comfort and know that this is not the end.





You will forever be "my black grandpa".