PJG- The orignial Bean

In May of 2004, my sister got married. Katy and I followed suit the following September. Well over a year earlier, Web and I were simultaneously ready to commit to our partners. The dates for the weddings were carefully determined by sisters who tried to be accommodating and considerate of one another without either of us donning a sacrificial cloak. There were several moments of negotiation (which couple knew each other longer, who got engaged first, who was older, and who preferred what season) in attempting to determine whose event would be when. Marrying in the same year without looking ridiculous and competitive would require a certain level of sophistication and I like to think we all put our best foot forward.

My sister’s wedding celebration was perhaps the most fun and happy day I had ever experienced. I deeply approved of her choice in partner. I was in awe of her capable, amiable, and generous nature throughout the planning and the event. My parents were stunning in their formal-wear and their delight. I was on the arm of my beautiful, soon-to-be wife. We laughed and drank, danced and smiled until I thought all of our faces would fall off.

In the time between the two weddings, the structure of my family changed entirely. My grandfather fell ill, spent over a month in an ICU, and died. My Mom and Dad lost their father. My grandmother lost her beloved. My sister and I lost our Bean. We didn’t know it at the time, but my sister’s wedding was the last time my grandfather would dress in a tux, escort my grandmother down an aisle, raise a glass of champagne in celebration, or look out admiringly on a banquet hall full of the immediate and extended family he had created.

I had no idea as a little girl, that my mother’s father was not her biological father. Even though there were various surnames attached to different aunts and uncles, the news that grandpa was evidently a “step” grandparent was something I almost missed entirely. His exhibition of grandfatherly devotion was no joke. He provided a never-ending stash of candy, dinners out, hugs, adventures, and naps together on the couch. He sat through dance recitals, praised our report cars, established loving nicknames, and tore us a new one when we stepped out of line. Every action was authentic and bound us to him in a way that mere genetics could not.

When I was too young to be unique or clever, he started calling me Bean, and I parroted the name back whenever I saw him. While all adults around him called him “Chief” or “The Chief,” us kids re-marketed his brand. In the end the softer nickname won out as a more powerful expression of love and respect. We sang it to him every time we said hello, and whispered it reverently when, finally, we had to say goodbye.

I had so many conversations with my grandfather that sometimes it’s difficult to remember any specific thing we might have said to one another. He wasn’t much to talk politics or religion or current events, except those that involved our family. He told lots of stories about things he had seen or done. He liked a practical joke, or straightforward joke, or just a funny tale. He liked to find out what his kids and grand kids were up to. He could tell you how to fix anything, how to keep a furnace running or what to pay for a car or any of its parts. Before you even knew what he was getting at, he would easily recruit you for some project he needed manual labor to finish. He started and ran a business. He was a hard worker. He was a risk taker, an entrepreneur. He used a PC to keep records and balance his books before Bill Gates made the little bastards user friendly. I know he barked orders at friend and foe for most of his life, but in my memory he was gentle and kind.

A long history of heart and kidney disease slowed Bean down considerably, perhaps mellowed him out- creating the gentler man I will always remember. By May of 2004, he was not able to walk any significant distance, he was cold nearly all the time, and he was frequently exhausted and grumpy. He had lived such a voluminous life. He was a man of such strong will, independence, and action, that this assault on his body was disgusting to him. We frustratedly implored him to be more patient and gracefully accept the limitations of old age. What the hell did we know about it- he often reminded us.

My grandpa and I never discussed the fact that we were not biologically related. Strangers observing our teasing and intimate interactions frequently remarked that I was the spitting image of Bean. We would always smile at each other and agree that I was the apple and he was the tree. When I realized that I was gay, in the absence of other role models, my grandparents had provided a clear and obvious footpath for following your heart even if that requires defying conventional norms. I re-wound the clock and imagined a time I could not fathom- when women did not get restraining orders against abusive husbands and society did not “agree with” divorce. When a single mother of five would be rejected by her church, stigmatized by her neighbors, pitied by her extended family, reviled by conservative watchdogs, or “tolerated” by society’s generous liberals. And a man raising another man’s children with the same degree of love and commitment he showed his own children might face the same characterizations.

I was once told by a girlfriend (who was operating within the framework of a ton of self-hatred) that gay men or women should never have families because they could never be “real” families and society’s non-acceptance would always do damage that could not be overcome. Her words were so foreign to me because I knew a family that started out similarly unacceptable, but the detractors and antagonists of that family died off, gave up, or were proven wrong- while the members and supporters of that family lived, succeeded, were born into, and/or grew stronger as a result of the family’s love and resilience.

My grandfather taught me that family is who you chose and who you care for, who you set yourself up as responsible to and responsible for, who you love… He taught me that choosing the right woman- a smart, strong, capable, generous, hopeful, funny, loving, woman- someone connected to nature, eager to see beauty, committed to children/family, accepting of wisdom, willing to be sometimes stubborn, sometime protective, sometimes proud, sometimes humble- is the most important thing you can choose.

When I got married, it was a truly blissful day and still it was heartbreaking to look out and see my grandmother sitting in the front row alone. Bean had told me in no uncertain terms that he loved me and loved anyone who I loved and still there was a tiny voice in my head that retold the stereotypical “joke,” some version of: “You can be gay, just don’t have a big wedding, it would “kill” your grandfather.” I have to admit, there was a ridiculous, egotistical, self-pitying part of me that wondered if he died or gave up trying to live so that my sister’s wedding would be the last he attended. And at some point I realized, I had to get over myself, not make things up that were incongruent with his words and actions, and let the man rest in peace.

Today marks 3 years since Grandpa died. He’s missed a lot since he left us, and yet he’s been right here (point to heart) the entire time. He passed away on my father’s birthday, and while initially that seems pretty sucky for my dad, it is fitting to have an excuse to honor these two men together. I am grateful for my grandfather and all the time we had with him and all that I learned from him. I am grateful for my father- for the times we've had and the times we have ahead. I am grateful that world is still turning.

My father is now a grandfather himself and while that is still a little hard to believe, the role fits him perfectly. My sister and I are currently growing some new grand kids for him to teach and play with- one boy and one girl- due to be born a day apart. Early on, we started calling the little boy "Bean" because baby-center-dot-com compared him week after week to various sized beans during his early development, but if the nickname happens to stick even beyond his birth, he will be in good company.

Happy birthday, Daddio.

We miss and love you, Bean.