An Homage to my GrandFather

James Woodrow Bazemore. That man raised me. That man was my grandfather. That man was my father. That man was my friend. I’m going to miss him. He was a character. He was a hard worker and a man of consistency. Rarely ever did he stay home from work unless he was really ill. He’d get up every morning, turn on the news, which he didn’t watch, but kept me awake seeing as the AC is in the living room and I’d often sleep in there because it was hot in my room. He’d shave and shower.  Then he would make his coffee, boiled eggs and sausage. He was lazy when it came to real cooking though, unless it was his lima beans and neck bones….Or that stinky sausage he’d ferry back from North Carolina. He liked to party and have a good time. He liked his drinks, his Puerto Rican rum, whisky, and that gallon of moonshine, which smelled and tasted like rubbing alcohol, that he kept in the little compartment in the wall unit.

He liked his cars, his Lincolns, that black and gray cougar, that baby blue and navy Lincoln, his famous white van that always had the fresh green apple air freshener. He had a brown chevy, then finally retired that and bought his final car, that black chevy impala with the black ice car freshener. His cars were always on point, always washed and kept clean. It drove him mad that my car would be dirty. He’d say “ how can you ride around in a dirty car boy?” And I’d reply that putting gas in it is more important. Why wash a car in the middle of February and its going to snow two days later? He’d say “ Rashaan, your car is like your body. You gotta take care of it, Inside and out”.  Then he’d slide me some money to wash the car when it became too unbearable.

He was intrusive. He didn’t believe in knocking on doors. He’d often barge in my room when the door was closed and I’d be like “could you please knock? I know you changed me and stuff but some things have expanded since those days and I need some privacy.” Finally after repeating myself over and over, I’d be fresh out of the shower and he’d barge in and I’d gladly rip the towel off. After seeing all this glory of God a few times, he started knocking.

There was no respect of personal boundaries. He’d eat his food, my food, and your food if it was in the fridge then argue with you about it, and how he didn’t eat it.  I was trying to eat healthier and he devoured my wheat bread. I stopped buying store brand coffee and he’d consume all of my instant Folgers. I’ll always remember the time when we got back from the south, and the whole family, except for him, went out to eat. I sat my carry out bag on the stove and stepped to the bathroom.  He then says to me, with a whole jar of tomato sauce hanging from his lips, “ Is that your lazanga on the stove?”. I says “ Yea”.  He goes “ Well I had some, hope you ain’t mind”, and proceeded to his room, completely unbothered at my very visible annoyance. To this I replied, “Even if I did, you done already got to it. How do you just invite yourself to my food?”. With a sense of elderly entitlement, he carried right on along down the hallway to his room and reclined peacefully.

He had his own language. Lord, did he have his own language. I’d often be relaxing in my room or the living room and he’d come in and say to me “ Rashaan, I need you to get your adding machine and help me out..” I’d be stuck on stupid then it would finally click to me that he meant calculator. I’ll never forget the time I was watching T.V. and he came to me and said “ I need you to get your box and figure some thing out for me.” I’m like “my box?” He goes “ Yeah you know, your box, your light up box.” I then go, “oh you mean my computer?” He replied “ Yeah, that too”. He could tear some names up. Rayshaan (pronounced Ruh-Shon)… Shanika ( Shaniqwa),  Dimon ( Diamond) .. Wunner ( Wynter), and the worst of them all, Kaquera (Jakira).

He emerged from a culture of men who weren’t affectionate with their words and physical touch. He didn’t hug us or tell us he loved us, and yet I never felt neglect or any sense of negative intention behind it. It simply was the manner in which he was socialized as a man. I understood this. Understanding him, and this characteristic of a man and this dynamic of masculinity and love, I knew that he loved me from the manner in which provision was always there, and if I said “I love you first”, or if he had a little nip in his system.

He was always well dressed, smelling good, and looking good. He taught me, from the way that he carried himself, that a man should always be in his element, whatever that may be, and look his best.   

 

I am going to miss him. I’m going to miss riding down south in his van with Grandma, Shaniqwa and Diamond and me always getting to stretch out in the back seat. While in route to North Carolina one year, Diamond not only caught a nosebleed, but fell asleep with gum in her mouth. When she woke up it was EVERYWHERE. He was mad.  I will never forget the one time we were coming back from Tennessee and I had to share the backseat with Jakira, my younger sister. We were cracking jokes and she laughed so loud, so hard, for so long (and anybody who knows my sister knows that she is a beautiful young lady with a hideous laugh…. very beautiful, horrid laugh), that he threatened to put her out on the side of the highway if she didn’t shut up…. She was 9. It was HILARIOUS and made us laugh even harder.  It made him all the more angry when he was mad and his anger was cause to laugh. For example, Diamond and I had soaked some socks in water and were in my room causing all kinds of ruckus by slapping each other silly with these wet socks and laughing. He kicked the door in, grabs the socks, slaps us a few times with said socks, and begins yelling at us, without his dentures in his mouth. Needless to say, we laughed even harder. He got even angrier.

I will remember riding in his car and him having the best music, but set in his ways with his stern face and not singing along with me. I’m going to miss coming home to grandma’s pot of pig feet only to find that he’d gotten all of the meat off of the feet and left a pot of bones. How he got the meat off the bones I’ll never know. I’m going to miss him buying Neapolitan ice cream but eating ALL of the strawberry out of the carton. Like why not just buy a whole carton of strawberry ice cream? I’m going to miss him arguing with me like a brother about socks, shirts, and shorts like he wasn’t and Xtra large, and I wasn’t a a whole medium. How his chest hairs would fight their way through the fabric of the white T because he had shimmied his way into it. I’m going to miss coming home from school, work, or church and him being laid up in my bed all sweaty and grandma laughing at how mad it made me. He’d wake up, roll over, behold the frustration on my face, and be like “ oh”. I’m going to miss him getting dressed up before an outing and him asking me if this and that matches and how this and that looked, then finally putting on his clothes, cologne and hat. Again with the chest hairs. If he was going out, and wasn’t wearing a tie, his taco meat and gold chains would be on full display. I’m going to miss him asking me to shave his upper back and neck hairs before a night of partying. I’m going to miss the times after I grew up, when I’d be getting dressed to go out, subconsciously emulating his mannerisms, and he’d say to me “ where you going slick daddy?”, or  “looking good slick daddy.” He bought me my first car, and so I will never forget the times I’d stay out all night and he’d call me 80 times and leave me 80 different messages like I wasn’t going to get all 80 of them at once. He’d say “Oh, you cut your cella foam”.., not phone, but foam “off on me?”  I’ll miss when I’d make him mad and he’d  call me a meat head, or knucklehead.  I’ll remember the quirky things like him digging his spoon into the peanut butter and remembering that nobody else ate that peanut butter because he’d double dip. How grandma would buy sharp cheddar and he would devour it like a mouse. I’ll miss waking up in the middle of the night and catching him eating various soft foods without his dentures. How he single handedly destroyed the childhood illusion which is Santa the Claus. I straight up caught him going in on the milk and cookies and was forever changed.

So much of who he was is so deeply etched into the fabric of who I am, good and bad parts and I wouldn’t trade any of them for the world. From those awkward but necessary pubescent conversations about “making one’s love come down”,  to him teaching me how to tie my neckties and how long they should extend down one’s torso, he had such a profound influence over my life. I would not be who I am, or where I am in life if it was not for him, and thats real talk. We didn’t always agree, and conversation rather than simply adhering to his lectures was ground for a fight, but at the end of the day, even if he didn’t understand what I was doing or why, he came around and supported me. Though he didn’t vocalize his pride often, his friends always would tell me how proud I made him. That’s what it’s all about, expounding on every opportunity because of the sacrifices the ones who came before us made. My only desire is that the achievements of my siblings, cousins, as well as myself, continue to honor you by bringing greatness to your legacy.

That man raised me. That man fought with me as a brother. He provided for me as a father. He loved me as a grandfather. He was a character. He was my friend, and I’m going to miss him dearly. Sleep Well Grandpa.