Remembering

"Honey, you have beautiful white teeth! Doesn't she have white teeth, mother?"

This comment to his wife Rita (whose herself has a smile equal to sunshine), while I'm eating a banana at the dining room table across from him.
Papa Joe sat in his undershirt and shorts, black socks pulled firmly up to mid-calf. His sincere appreciation and respect for my pearly whites made me smile wider, thus giving him further opportunity to look at these shining examples of the dental ideal. At this point, overwhelmed with disbelief, he rises from the table and travels back to his sitting room where he finds comfort in his comfy recliner. I have to follow him into this haven if I want to continue to talk with him. So I do. He asks me what's new and why I'm not married yet (a very important status to achieve for all women). I laugh and reply that he's taken so who am I going to marry. He realizes the joke, waves his hand at me and says, "go on," giving me his side-eyed half smile, glad to know he still has it.

Another day, having received a golf cart in which to ride around his neighborhood and keep an eye on things, he convinced me to take a turn with him. Actually preferring to sit in the passenger seat so he could really check out the goings on, he handed me the key. Nervously pulling out of the driveway, I follow his navigation around the streets of his home turf. He waves to those out on their lawns or porches, explaining who's who. We pull over to say hello to a handsome German Shepherd mutt tied up in a yard, the sibling to his beloved S(h)adie. I start up again and to Papa Joe's consternation, hit the gas pedal in an effort to go over 10 miles per hour. He looks at me and asks if I'm trying to kill us both. "Yes," I reply, "if we go faster than 11 miles, we decombust." He, again, realizes that I'm joking, and shakes his head muttering about young people. I ease up on the gas and we continue our leisurely drive, he - the carefree king of his domain, me - his willing Hoke (though a little less black and manly).

Wherever he is now, I'll bet he's got a golf cart made of gold (don't worry, it doesn't go faster than 10mph) that he's using to visit everyone he knows who got there first. And he's drinking wine (don't worry, he didn't pour it for himself) and telling stories of his girls and his grandson, whom he loved so well and did everything to support and provide for.

When I'm in Pittsfield next, I'll miss hearing that voice call out from the "other" living room, and I'll miss that twinkle in the eye as he got the joke. Rest in peace Papa Joe - we'll remember you often and fondly.