The stories you accumulate over a lifetime…

And, even over a summer? Like when you’re 13 and time takes forever to unfold, when it can’t move fast enough, and so a billion things happen while nothing is happening all at once.

It’s weird to think about what we forget and what sticks with us.

How it’s different at 13 than it is at 23 than it is at - pick any other, later age. Time just keeps speeding up. The experiences don’t change, though. Not really.

It’s why it’s lovely to talk to 94 year old and see what’s still sticky, and wonder, gods permitting, what’ll be sticking to your own brain on the cusp of your 95th.

We took the drive out for the party. All in, all of his kids made it, 4 of the grandkids, and a handful of special friends and spouses and significant others were there.

It was a noisy room which is never great for the couple people with hearing aids. Not impossible to deal with, but not easy, either.

For whatever reason, Grandpa Z and his walker ended up partway down one of two tables, presumably so he had a view of the room. Uncle Tim had thought about that. Let him look over this, if nothing else, because it was a room of real characters. That’s said with love and respect and admiration. If this family has anything, it’s got character AND characters.

Once we all found our seats, including a trio of me, my wife, and my youngest brother across from him, I realized the seat to his right was open, and I went to take it.

We had started chatting across the table and I could tell if I was having trouble, I could make it even easier on him.

Plus, selfishly, I don’t get enough time with him and this was as good a shot as I get to hear some stories.

I don’t think my brain works as fast as his does.

Genetically, it’s there - and this is where it comes from, the insatiable curiosity and constant pattern matching - but whatever is going on with his hardware, he’s still ready to talk World Cup, starting lineups across various baseball teams, and give me a hard time for writing so much because he mostly keeps up on his iPad, but clearly there’s a lot in the world going on he needs to keep tabs on, too.

I heard a bunch of stories over lunch. I complimented his taste in ordering a draft New Trail (Broken Heels, a family favorite), and he relayed how it was his first beer in months. The doctors have told him to layoff. He figured a birthday party was a good day to lay on instead.

Hard to argue with that. He sipped his while I had a Yuengling. I had to drive back home, after all.

He had to drive once, across the country. There were a few beers involved. Nothing too crazy, but at least one night in Texas they put a few down and had some laughs over whatever the local beers were.

In 1954, while still in the service, they had a chance to help move somebody’s car from California to Pennsylvania. This was a pretty standard request and opportunity. It was good travel and a good excuse for a road trip.

Some of the crazy guys would do it solo. He knew guys who did the whole trip in a day and a half. That was nuts. I agreed. I’ve done the whole country and a handful of times and - a day and a half just shouldn’t be possible.

In his case, somebody needed a Studebaker moved. It was a fun car. I should have asked him which model. Him and a buddy leapt at the opportunity.

(Pssst. Grandpa, if you’re reading this - was it a Commander? Do you remember?)

They did the whole country in 2 and a half days.

One quality stop in Texas.

The rest was taking turns. One would drive, the other would nap, no real breaks apart from that. Solid military strategy. Solid young person ambitions.

While you were driving you could play the radio as loud as you wanted. Or, as loud as you had to. The other guy was depending on you to not fall asleep, so what’s a little music going to hurt?

These are the stories that stick. Who knows why.

But they create some groove in our brain where the synapses can still fire with all their brilliantly remembered accuracy (or misremembered inaccuracy, but does it even matter?) and the way his face lit up telling me about it - a simple road trip, from 72 years ago, from when he was all of 23, with tons of drive time, nap time, and one good night out in Texas laughing about the beers, it’s there like it was yesterday.

He liked the seat he had. He mentioned it. You couldn’t hear what people were saying, not exactly, but you could tell they were telling good stories, because people were all laughing and smiling. He loved watching that.

What you do and who you do it with. That’s it.

Happy birthday, Grandpa Z.

RIP Grandma Z. She would have loved this party. If you want a Grandma Z story (and some other celebrations of life) click here.