Eulogy.

I gave the one and only eulogy at my Grandpa Robert's funeral, which would have been uneventful had my Great Uncle Irwin (my grandmother's brother) not fainted. Ah, family.

Today I was one of six eulogies (My grandfather's friend, my cousin Rachel, myself, my father,and his brother and sister) at my Grandpa Merle's funeral. Other happenings of the rather exhausted day: longest funeral procession in Akron, my aunt's pouring out her heart to me, meeting half of my father's childhood, various deep discussions with family. Ah, family.

I'm glad that "Funeral Day" is over. But anyhow, I want to post the eulogy:

My Grandpa Merle was a big grumpy bear.

No, really, when I was younger I thought he was a bear. He lived in the Cave of Buckeyes and Browns in the Enchanted Forest of Big Ten Sports. He was tall and hulking and always wandered around with a slight scowl. He was a big skulking bear.

As a child I was mildly afraid of my Grandpa Bear. You see, I never knew when the bear would attack. My grandpa’s attacks were unique, though--they were more secretive and sinister. My grandpa’s plan of attack was the “Grandpa Smooch.”

I really dreaded these “Grandpa Smooches.”

This was a ‘Grandpa Smooch”: I would be sitting peacefully, probably with a coloring book and crayons, doing my thing. Then my grandfather would approach me with a grin and a glint in his eye.

“Time for a ‘Grandpa Smooch’!” He’d growl.

I’d squeal and giggle and protest and before I could run away he would have me in his grip. He would then make his lips all wet and slobbery and plan a big sloppy kiss on my cheek. Afterwards he’d skulk back to his cave. I’d sit and wipe the kiss residue from my cheek.

Some time later, when I was eighteen and a senior in high school, my Grandpa Robert died. Grandpa Bear and my grandmother were in their condo in Sarasota at the time, so after my mother called with the news I went to the condo to calm down. My grandfather and I sat talking for hours--I’m not entirely sure about what, probably my Grandpa Robert and my fast-approaching graduation. I remember, however, mentioning the “Grandpa Smooch.” Grandpa claimed not to remember it, but I’m positive he did.

I realized, then, what was behind those “Grandpa Smooches.” What was being played out as my grumpy Grandpa bear sat patiently listening to me talk about my Grandpa Robert. Grandpa Merle really loved his grandchildren. He was proud of his grandchildren. He was a bear, yes, but not so grumpy--you just had to learn how to speak his language. He could not give his grandchildren regular smooches--they simply would not convey the amount of love he felt. Only a “Grandpa Smooch,” dripping wet and smacking loud, could describe that love.

My Grandpa Merle was my friend. I loved and I understood my grandfather, and I hope he knows that he has passed his grumpy bear traits down to me--because I’ve grown into a bit of a grumpy bear myself. I hope he knows that I understand what he meant through those “Grandpa Smooches” that I so feared, and that I would gladly, gladly, have a hundred more.