I used to spend a lot of time at my grandparent’s place growing up. It was a mansion to a little girl. With plenty of places to hide and space to run, it was a dream. There was raspberries to pick, apple trees to climb and a pool to swim in. When I think of summers, I always think of my grandfather.
I loved swimming in my grandparent’s pool. Often times, once they let me in the pool I would never get out. My fingers would shrivel, I would be bright red from sun burns and my eyes stung from the chlorine, but I would stay in until the very last moment. I felt weightless underwater. Free and unrestricted by the rules of the world. My grandfather always joked that I was a polar bear. His polar bear. It may not have been the most flattering, but I loved it. Polar bears are a strong, graceful, powerful and determined creature, and little me liked being compared to that.
And, oh man, my grandfather made the best grilled cheese. There was nothing overly special about the way he made it. Bread, cheese and butter. But, man, it was so good. I could’ve eaten it forever. No one’s grilled cheese could match it. Even when my grandmother would try – same ingredients – but it wasn’t his.
After a nine month battle with pancreatic cancer, he passed when I was 18. No matter how long it will be since he passed, my summers will always remind me of him. The long days, bright sun and sense of adventure is infused with memories of swimming and eating grilled cheese. Since he loved to cook, I don’t know how pleased he would be with a legacy of grilled cheese. But it’s mine, and damn, what I wouldn’t give for another one.
Stephanie Fraser 