Today's Dad's birthday. It's a hard day for a lot of us but one we also cherish because of the memories it brings, the happiness associated with those memories and the encouragement to make some of our own. That pic was taken as he and I were sampling a few local brews in Layton Utah. Dad did enjoy a good beer!
My own son, Sean sent me the following short remembrance a few weeks ago. We thought we'd save it for today. More remembrances will be posted later on, but this was the one that kick started us into writing them. Only three words were touched from the original sent from Sean. Here it is:
Norman Ellis Pennington was a normal man. He had two
wives, three sons and many grandchildren. In the grand scheme of things, he was
typical. It’s funny how one person can seem so grand, so large, when compared
to your own life. I’m only twenty years old, and nearly every thing he said to
me resonates in my mind when I consider my life.
My grandfather continues to be one of the most consistent
and persistent influences in my own life. Throughout my life I’ve always heard
that I resemble him. We looked nothing alike: he was a skinny, blonde white man
and I’m a thick, brown haired, brown man. Yet, we are very much alike. The same
aloof, yet kind spirit runs through my veins as it did through his. Our
shameless sentimentality, shown through old American standards, still carries
on through this day. Although we had reservations about expressing emotions, it
only took him, and now me, a few shots of whiskey to open up. One of my most
poignant memories is of him crying when “In My Life” came on and he opened up
about his own life with his ex-wife. I had never seen such honesty and
vulnerability. I think about it every day.
He introduced me to the blues. I learned the blues via a
friend’s brother (learning the 12-bar blues from that guy), yet he taught me
what the blues actually meant. Every time I play a blues song, even if the
lyrics are comical, every lick, every note, reminds me of him. He encouraged me
in person when my own father was too far away to do it. He played me every
blues album he owned to show me how the greats did it. When it came to the
blues, he was the first person that came to mind when I listen to it. Most of
the artists I admire in the blues genre came from evenings where he told me
about his favorite artists and he played them. I miss the times when he’d tell
me about his favorite artists keeping the blues alive. I’d give anything for
him to tell me about one of his new favorite artists. There have been a few he
might’ve liked, including Leon Bridges (even if he is more of a soul singer.)
I love music. I’m an English major (former Music Education
major), and yet I listen to certain songs and think of the memories when my
grandfather played those songs from his stereo, singing every lyric out of key.
My own musical philosophy comes from those experiences: if a non-musician can’t
sing along to it, then it isn’t worth much. My grandpa could sing along to the
best of them: Sonny Terry, B.B. King, Albert King, and, of course, The Rolling
Stones. Whenever I play those artists, I can’t help but think of him.
And then I think of artists he may have liked. Lately, I’ve
been listening to Julie London’s Julie Is
Her Name. He didn’t own it in his own personal CD collection (which I now
own), but what if he had loved it as well? Questions like that torment me. When
it comes to grief, questions like that hurt the most. No matter how much I
loved him, and how much I picked his brain, there’ll never be another chance
when I can ask him questions like that. There are questions I want to ask him
that will never be answered.
Overall, grief seems to be the feeling of knowing that
you’ll never be able to learn about a person ever again. In my own apartment,
which I share with a friend who collaborates with me on silly musical
endeavors, I see constant reminders of him: an African decoration he had, a
portrait of Copenhagen, even my own cooking ware that was handed down to me. I
can’t even cook bacon and eggs without being reminded of him!
I’m glad these reminders exist. Now, I’m listening to “Moonlight Mile,” his favorite song, and hoping he’d somehow come back and talk to me. Little moments like that are the moments I miss: the moments when he’d have a beer in his hand and give me advice about life that still proves to be good advice even to this day. I miss the times he’d take me to get a Happy Meal at McDonald’s when I was younger, even if those trips were only a few minutes. It’s amazing how one person can have such an impact on one’s life.
I’m glad these reminders exist. Now, I’m listening to “Moonlight Mile,” his favorite song, and hoping he’d somehow come back and talk to me. Little moments like that are the moments I miss: the moments when he’d have a beer in his hand and give me advice about life that still proves to be good advice even to this day. I miss the times he’d take me to get a Happy Meal at McDonald’s when I was younger, even if those trips were only a few minutes. It’s amazing how one person can have such an impact on one’s life.
Sean
More to follow...
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