This is the time of year to get together with family and to reflect on times with those who have passed on. I'd like to share a couple of my favorite memories of my late maternal grandparents, Beverly Ross and Bob Bourne:
One of my most distinct memories of my grandmother Beverly, who passed away in 1999 at the age of 67, is going to the movies. Like many people of her generation, she referred to the movies as "the show" - short for "picture show."
Granny, as I called her, was one of the hippest, most stylish women of any age. Into her 60s, she stayed current on pop culture and passed on her love of movies, music, celebrity and all things Hollywood to my mom and I. Adorning a wall in Granny's apartment in the '80s was the album cover for Donna Summer's "She Works Hard for the Money," which my grandmother would sing while getting ready to go into work as a nurse at the state mental hospital.
I don't know many preteen boys whose idea of fun is hanging out with their grandmother, but I had so much fun going to "the show" with Granny. Back before the rise of the multiplex, my grandmother and I would take the bus (she didn't drive) to the neighborhood movie theater in the Town & Country Shopping Center, the nation's first strip mall that opened in the '50s in my hometown of Columbus, Ohio.
The movies I saw with Granny are quintessentially '80s: "Fright Night," "Weird Science," "Beverly Hills Cop." Obviously, my grandmother had eclectic taste and was much more liberal and adventurous than many women her age. From campy vampire horror to silly teen sex comedies to funny action movies with the foul-mouthed yet charming Eddie Murphy, Granny enjoyed it all. And going to the show with her are memories I'll always cherish…
When I think of my grandfather, Bob Bourne, who passed away in '04 at the age of 83, I remember his generosity. And I think of him often, since I'm his namesake - my first name is Robert and I go by my middle name, Chris. (The reason my last name, Bournea, is slightly different than his is because for some odd reason, an "A" was added to the end of my name on my birth certificate.)
One of my fondest memories of Daddy Bob, as I called him, is when I was in sixth grade at Holy Spirit, a Catholic school in an east Columbus suburb called Whitehall. On one occasion, the school decided to reward students who did well on some test - I don't remember what subject it was or if it was a statewide, standardized test - with lunch from McDonald's. Being treated to something other than our usual brown-bag lunches was a big deal, and those of us who didn't do so well on the test felt left out of the fast-food feast.
Daddy Bob was not about to let me be passed over, so he not only bought me McDonald's, he treated the rest of my classmates who didn't make the cut to burgers, fries and Cokes from the Golden Arches as well. He personally delivered the Mickey D's to me and my classmates in our cafeteria, relishing the shocked stares of the teachers and administrators who didn't dare challenge him.
I'm proud to be named after such a kind and thoughtful man.
Happy Holidays, and I hope you have fond memories of special people like my grandparents to reflect on during this season.
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