Missing My Sandbox

My first month as a self-published author has officially passed. It's been wild. It's been daunting. And it's been worth it—all of these feelings are worth all the work I put in to get here. However, there is one major part that has been missing. Many of you may have known my grandpa, his kooky smile and captivating personality. I find it hard not to miss him. He was my greatest inspiration. He gave every story a heartbeat, and I would give anything for him to see me try to do the same. 

Even after his passing, he still was a part of Satan's Garden. For those that have watched Keely's Trailer, you may have noticed the knick-knack boxes in the background of some of the shots. In the book, they were filled with Keely's private collections—her movie tickets, special pennies, and Pog collections. These were parts of me, things that I would put inside the boxes my grandpa made for me and my sisters. Every Christmas, he would build us a special puzzle box. All were different and wacky, but they still had that signature "Grandpa Boehm touch." Each one represents a year I got to spend with him, and that time is the most precious thing he could have given me. 

I'm glad that a part of him will live on in some way through Keely and Dani's story, but I cannot help but want more. He deserves that. I want people to know him the way I did and to understand the parts of me that were gifts from him. The only way I can think to do that is to tell his story. He was a great man and an even better grandfather. My eulogy can't really do him justice, but it can at least leave you with a piece of what he gave to me. 

I didn’t think I could do it. Every time I felt my foot lift off the ground, it was back on that pebbled pavement a moment later. My hands were clammy, so I couldn’t get a good grip on the handlebars, and my helmet kept falling to the side because it was a good two sizes too big for my head. I felt his strong hand on my back, firm, but warm at the same time. “If you think you’re going too fast, just head straight at that sandbox,” he said. I looked out at the mound of dirt at the far end of my backyard—a country girl’s version of a sandbox—and then I looked back at him. He gazed at me with those familiar hazel eyes, a spark of challenge lingering there. It was all it took for my foot to mount that purple stallion, sure enough ending up face-first in the "sandbox" a quick moment later. 

You see, I may not have known it at the time, but he knew I was strong enough to fall. Even though that first time riding my bike wasn’t a success in the typical fashion, he showed me how it felt to pick myself back up. That is how I will forever remember my grandpa. He was the person who believed in you before you had the courage to believe in yourself. He was the man that made you think you were 5’10’’ even when you stood a measly 5’5’’. He was the guy who helped you find your best parts and told you in his very intense but impassioned way, “You, my dear, have all the good things inside of you to be the very best you can be.” He made you want to bet on yourself. 

Robert Boehm was the type of man that was an active participant in life. He never sat on the sidelines or subbed himself out. He was a son that strived to be better, to do better. He was a father that pushed his kids to never settle and to always pursue even an inkling of a dream. He was a grandfather that taught his grandkids to never accept defeat, to conquer the world one sandbox at a time. And he was a husband that dedicated his life to letting his wife know she was loved. He would often say that his greatest accomplishment was somehow finding Lucy and managing to make her love him. My grandma would always be listening nearby, smiling at him in that soft, adoring way. If there was one thing I have learned from watching them together, it was that they both were willing victims in their own love story.  

For those that knew him, they were quickly able to see his tenacity towards life. I once asked him, “Grandpa, what was the best time of your life?” And he said, “My best time is still ahead of me. If it already happened, then what the hell else do I have to look forward to?” And that was how he lived his life. He never looked back or dwelled on what used to be. He celebrated each day, a new chance to learn another guitar chord, to become a better photographer, to build a trickier treasure box, to plant a bigger garden for his precious Lucy, and to tell a brand new story. Stories were his favorite. He had a way of captivating an entire room. Every conversation was an animated saga of thoughtful observation, sharing his experiences and allowing you to feel a part of them, too. He loved talking about his times as a teacher and how his students used to say, “Mr. B, Mr. B! You aren’t like those other teachers. You don’t tell us what to do—you let us do what we want!” He would always smile fondly because he knew he had them right where he wanted them. His students may have thought they were doing what they wished, but it was all in the effort to impress the enigmatic tech teacher, Mr. B.  

One of my Grandpa’s favorite things to do was to leave you with a piece of advice that you could take away and hopefully keep with you. As my mother can attest, his favorite bit of wisdom was, “How can the old lady know what she thinks, until she hears what she says?” He would always have a different meaning behind it each time, and it reminded me to look at the world from all different sides. As a celebration of his life, I want to continue his legacy and share with you what meaning he has left with me. The goal of living is to never fear the possibility of failure because in life there are always going to be sandboxes to shelter the fall. The sandboxes are the people you have at your side, the grandparents, parents, siblings, friends, and lovers. They are the warm hand at your back, keeping you steady but at the same time pushing you forward. As I stand here today, I still feel his hand behind me, reminding me that I am never without him. I know that whenever I need him at my side, readying myself for another purple stallion to tame, I can just close my eyes, listen closely, and hear him whisper into my ear, “You, my dear, have all the good things inside of you to be the very best you can be.” 

The greatest love story is right in front of you.