I’ve known very few people who still had their great-grandparents in their lives into their twenties, let alone great-grandparents whom they’ve known somewhat closely. I knew all four of my great-grandparents on my father’s side until I was 19. Though our relationships were not as deep as the kind that I share with my grandparents (who in many ways function as members of a larger-than-typical nuclear family rather than as extended family), visits to their houses where they’d ask about our lives and interests and school were common.
In the summers, after church, my sister and I would walk to the kitchen to visit my great-grandma, who often volunteered to serve meals post-service. We’d celebrate holidays with boisterous gatherings at my great-grandma’s house— the Fourth of July, in particular, is the one I remember the most. After eating heaping plates of macaroni and cheese and cornbread at the designated kids’ table in a room that used to be shared by my grandma and her sisters, my sister and I would eventually saunter off into the spare bedroom and curl up in a carb-induced-coma while the adults finished their meals in front of whatever sports game was on TV in the basement. My uncle eventually would find us, and we’d do a few sparklers with him and watch while he and a couple of cousins gave a half-hearted sprint after setting off larger fireworks. But it didn’t need to be a special occasion to visit. Often we’d run errands with my grandma and take half an hour to stop by and say hello to our greats. Sunday dinners with my great-grandpa at his favorite restaurants, where he frequented so often he had a usual table and the staff knew him by name, were occasions to indulge my great-grandpa with musings over our favorite school subjects— except he always stopped us at math, his favorite, which, unfortunately, my sister nor I had the family flair for. And my other great-grandma, who we were said to receive the easiest time with (she made all of her previous grandchildren take spoonfuls of cod liver oil when they visited, but we missed out on her baking.), would sit and talk to us about hair and give us little care packages of soaps and shampoos and deodorants she’d been collecting to give out.
For years, I’ve thought that I needed to find time to sit down with my great-grandparents and interview them about their lives and our family. I have always been moved by the privilege to have real memories with them, and I am thankful to my grandparents for creating the space to experience the power of intentional relationships with your family. I’ve never gotten to interview my great-grandparents. Between my great-grandparents’ aging, being away at college across state lines, and the pandemic creating barriers to the casual way we were used to seeing our great-grandparents, time slipped away.
Last week, I attended the only funeral I’ve been able to go to for my great-grandparents. It is still strange to really wrap my head around the loss of my great-grandparents because of the ways the pandemic has distorted my reality. In my head, my great-grandparents are just as they were in early 2019 when I was off to India for study abroad— still going to church, sitting in their big armchairs in their houses, and still hosting the family for Sunday brunch. They are lively and still get around. Even as I visited some of them in hospice as their health declined, my first instinct when thinking about them today is some mishmash between the great-grandparents of my childhood and my great-grandparents in 2019.
I was lucky to be back in the states and close enough for my grandparents to pick me up to attend my great-grandfather’s funeral. It is always difficult to say goodbye to someone, especially a family member, and for me, it was difficult seeing my family say goodbye to someone who has been such a force and presence in the structure of our family. Still, I felt an appreciation for the opportunity to see the ways in which my great-grandfather’s love and care extended from his family into the wider community.
I think often about who I am, who I want to be, and the paths of all the people before me have had to take just to reach where I have been able to grow into the person I am today. There is a joke in my family that there are only four professions a Baldwin can take: teacher, preacher, doctor, or lawyer— and really, the majority of our family members fall somewhere on that list (or have at least done a short spell.) The Baldwins are extremely family-oriented, community-invested, widely networked, and educated. I have never felt a tug-of-war in my heart over what career path I might want to take when I’m older— I’ve always felt secure in the desire to be a teacher. And it has always been difficult for me not to find myself stirring up some kind of good trouble in my community. The critique others may have of me, that I am over-involved, too busy, and too-focused on other people’s needs is one that frustrates me because it feels in my nature to be this way. This is what I’ve seen my family members do forever. This is what I’ve been taught. And I’m so proud of it.1
My great-grandfather set the bar pretty high with achievements and leadership.2 This has always been obvious, but was ever clear as members of the community spoke of his contributions to their organizations, churches, school, neighborhood, and more. And everyone spoke of his famous phrase, often a parting-gift, a blessing, and a reminder, “Stay close to the good Lord.”
There are parts of my great-grandparents lives that I will never know. I learned so much about my great-grandfather in his celebration of life— he loved to sing, he substitute taught at a local high-school, and somehow I didn’t know his degree is in history (I know he would’ve gotten a kick out of talking to me about the public history masters program I’m in now.)
My grandpa asked if I wanted to speak at my great-grandpa’s funeral, but I didn’t feel I had the words to do it. Now, in these last few days between Christmas and New Years, I’m taking the time to reflect, and I finally feel the words to (somewhat) adequately express gratitude. I wish I could’ve interviewed my great-grandparents, if for nothing else than to have a little piece of them— their voices, maybe a laugh, to hold onto, but I cherish the memories I do have, and I take pride in the values and ways of life that I have inherited from their teaching and the ways in which they structured their own lives. I send my thanks up into the ether, knowing somehow and someway my loved ones who have moved on, and those who I did not get a chance to meet, know me, hear me, and see me. I look for their guidance in the pit of my belly and in the beating of my own heart, knowing that they still live on through me, in my mind and body, and that I am protected always.
In 2018, I accepted an award from the Rainbow-PUSH Coalition (Still such a crazy thing to think about— literally Jesse Jackson handed me my award and I have pictures with him. Unreal.) and in my impromptu speech I thought immediately of my great-grandpa and his achievements and contributions to his community. I have always strived to show up in my community and do what’s right, even when it’s hard. I think my great-grandpa took that calling seriously as well.