76-year-old man fights bank robbers

(see full article here, it’s a great read: http://www.recordnet.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20020110/A_NEWS/301109955&cid=sitesearch)

(January 29, 1925- August 19, 2012)

Yep, that was my Grandpa, Edward Leighton Christopher or Chris for short! That headline tells a little something about him. His age was just a number to him. He didn’t let it slow him down and it didn’t stand in the way of something he had already put his mind to. He would glide through life as if he was still a curious 15-year-old kid the same way he would glide across the ice on his hockey skates well into his 70’s.

 

He wasn’t necessarily a fighter as far as I was able to observe, but he did serve in WWII. And for anyone who has experienced a war, part of the fight seems to be carried within them. He didn’t talk too much about the details with my sister and me, but oh did we hear all the tunes and jingles that he learned throughout his time in the service. It appeared as if those songs were the blanket he used to separate the horrible things from him and his sanity. Now, when I say sanity, I mean it with a grain of salt because if you were to look up the definition of sanity, you wouldn’t find his name in there. But, that is just because ordinary people think any deviation from societal norms is unconventional.

He walked around on this cloud of hilarity never veering away from what he was going to do or say because of what others thought. He was on a mission to entertain and be entertained and any subconscious thoughts of other people’s judgments would not stop him. Just going out to a restaurant was a Broadway show for him. The main characters were him and the lucky server who happened to get his table.  The unsuspecting sever would walk over to greet the table and my grandpa’s first question would be, “How’s your mom doing?” Obviously, this would throw them off guard into a world wind of thoughts: “How does this guy know my mom?”, “Am I supposed to know him?”, “Is my mom here?”, and “Is this guy crazy?” Each thought had an accompanying facial expression, giving my grandpa the biggest satisfaction.  He would go on to serenade them each time they came over to fill empty waters or take away finished plates. And by the end of the meal, no matter how crazy they thought he was, he had fulfilled his mission to entertain them, himself and us.

I remember him in his over washed red crew length socks that would slightly peak from under his grease stained corduroys. The cigar case tucked into his shirt pocket; still smoldering from the last puff he managed to take before he had walked inside. Already fullway into a story that started with “have you heard the one where…?”

I can picture him now, with his sideways grin, (one side of his cheek was paralyzed from an elevator accident he had when he was a mischievous boy), gold tooth exposed, scheming for the next joke he would tell or song he would sing.  I could tell he had a library selection in his mind. I imagine him walking down the aisles of stories and songs all categorized by years in which he learned them. Although, they would all fit into one of three categories:  funny, cute or inappropriate.  He was an eccentric man who strived to tug on the ropes of people’s mundane lives. He was the man who took your day slightly off the track of seriousness because you encountered him. In this world of complacency it only takes a little bit of effort to make a difference in someone’s life. I take this lesson from him with me throughout my own life and will continuously strive to be the oddball that is needed when things need some mixing up!

Thanks Grandpa, miss you!