There are a million memories of Bop from my childhood and beyond. Brown cows. Crazy Park. Cigar boxes. The Bells. Lamb Barbeques. Roses are Red poems. Hostess pies. Kramers. Hankies under our pillows. This is Kitridge Road song. Canned good Christmas gifts. Top Secret. Croatian songs and words. LOVE.
Of course I always knew that Bop loved me. I am his oldest grandchild, his “Jenka”, the little girl he and grandma took out driving around for hours on weekend days. However, a distinct memory of the day that I became truly conscious of that love is etched in my mind. It was a warm spring afternoon when I was around 14 years old. There was some sort of family gathering, likely a birthday party, at Donna and John’s rental house. Chaos and noise were the norm and in the midst of the party I walked into the kitchen. Being that I was in my early teen years and overly self-conscious of the way I looked/acted/dressed etc, I was initially suspicious that there was some negative reason for the way that Bop was looking directly at me from across the room. However, upon noticing that he had a slight smile on his face, I resumed doing whatever it was I was doing (probably eating). When I looked up again though, Bop was still watching me. That face of his was so easy to read and as I looked back at him, it practically screamed love and pride. Bop loved me. Bop was proud of me. After that day, over many years, at various times, I would see that same look come across his face again and again as he quietly watched his family, love shining brightly in his eyes. Grandma, my mom, my cousins and siblings, and eventually his great grandchildren. To be loved by Bop was a great feeling. He gave his family so many special times, so many hilarious moments, and plenty of love to last us the rest of our lives.
