This past weekend marked the fifth anniversary of the death of my granddad, Maj. Bennie Canty. Because the occasion went virtually unmarked, I have decided to reflect on his passing through the sharing of my favorite family anecdote.
The scene is Jacksonville, Fla., in 1992. My parents dropped my brother and me off to spend three weeks at my grandparents' house. It was like going to a summer camp, where the senior counselors played bridge and went to bed at 8 p.m.
One afternoon, my grandpa volunteered to take my brother, my three cousins and me to the zoo. This was quite the excursion since the zoo was 45 minutes away, and taking five kids in the car with a 70-year-old man was quite a task.
We piled in the car and started driving. But after roughly five minutes, I realized that my brother was not in the car. I started to speak up, but one of my cousins silenced me before I could get the words out. She knew that we had left my brother back at the house, and she wanted to see how far we could get before granddad realized. Wanting to befriend her and seem like the cool older kids I saw on that Mall Madness commercial, I kept my mouth shut.
We sat in the car for another 40 minutes and we finally made it to the zoo. My grandpa reached his hand to the backseat and said,
Chris, hand me the money.\
My cousins, in their worldly 11-year-old wisdom, had forgotten that my brother was carrying the ticket money. My grandpa stuck his arm back again, still facing forward, said,
""Chris, hand me the money.""
Finally, I broke my silence and told him Chris wasn't in the car but back at the house.
He turned his head around to see that there were only three of us in the backseat and one in the front. It was on that day that my grandpa learned the importance of the headcount.
Meanwhile, my brother was at my grandparents' house frantic because he was at home alone in unfamiliar territory. He tried calling my parents, but what could they do 2,000 miles away? So he paced around, and cursed himself for watching ""Price Is Right"" instead of helping load the car.
The drive back felt long and ominous. I could tell my granddad was thinking about how he outsmarted evil in World War II but got duped by a bunch of kids with braces. We all felt pretty lousy, especially me because I was really looking forward to buying one of those flattened pennies.
We arrived home and, hurt feelings aside, we tried to get back in the car and go to the zoo anyway. Unfortunately, my brother slammed my fingers in the car door in an attempt to ride shotgun. I don't blame the guy; it's tough to get left out when you're riding next to the driver. With my fingers swollen and throbbing, everyone spent the rest of the afternoon around the house.
I don't remember if we ever made it to the zoo that summer, but I do remember spending long days with my grandparents.
Though my granddad couldn't keep tabs on all of us that day, I'd like to think he's doing a pretty good job of it now. He helped shape the lives of our entire family, and that impression will last longer than a wax animal or flattened penny ever could.
E-mail any comments to Erin at erincanty8285@hotmail.com.\
