My Grandaddy
If you Google Ed L Molden, stories come up of generous donations to hospice, years of Kiwanis club service, the three successful real estate corporations he created and made empires from a simple electric company in the 40's. You'll see that he is a Korean War vet, a model husband, legendary at the country club, a published author, a father of three, and a grandfather to me.
What I know of him is far simpler. I know that we ate cheddar cheese on rye, melted in the toaster oven, and watermelon with salt ("doesn't it bring out the flavor? didn't know watermelon had so much flavor till now, did you?!" he would ask, eyes lit up like a little boy). I know that he kicked his feet in the water when I would paddle along in my floaties, splashing me and making me squeal. He made my grandmother frown "oh, Ed!" about every fifteen minutes with his jokes and bad habits, and he would kiss her forehead or wink at her like in old movies. He sat tall and proud in his corner office, overseeing the empire he built with faith and kindness. People who couldn't afford homes would come to him, begging, and he would give them roofs over their heads. No one in town ever forgot his name, and, in time, the reciprocations of kindness and loyalty made him millions. A policeman once tore up my ticket when he recognized me as Ed's granddaughter ("I wouldn't have what I have without that man, he helped my parents so! You have a nice day, miss, and tell your pappy hello!") My grandaddy was always proud of himself, he made sure of that. A few weeks ago, the last time I saw him, and for the first time ever, he told me he was proud of me. We shared a cup of watermelon with salt. I tried to feed it to him and he rolled his eyes at me, Grandma hollering from the next room that he would spill it all over himself ("he's such a slob, you know"). He said "you know I was disappointed when you left the company. I wanted my whole family to be a part of it, to carry on what I started."
"I know, Grandaddy, I..."
"But you are doing what you want to do. You are starting from scratch, and giving up sure money to do what you dream about. You're a leader, like me. I am so proud of you, Morgan." I thanked him. I kissed his forehead. I said goodbye.
Everett Lee Molden, August 19, 1914 - April 24, 2007
What I know of him is far simpler. I know that we ate cheddar cheese on rye, melted in the toaster oven, and watermelon with salt ("doesn't it bring out the flavor? didn't know watermelon had so much flavor till now, did you?!" he would ask, eyes lit up like a little boy). I know that he kicked his feet in the water when I would paddle along in my floaties, splashing me and making me squeal. He made my grandmother frown "oh, Ed!" about every fifteen minutes with his jokes and bad habits, and he would kiss her forehead or wink at her like in old movies. He sat tall and proud in his corner office, overseeing the empire he built with faith and kindness. People who couldn't afford homes would come to him, begging, and he would give them roofs over their heads. No one in town ever forgot his name, and, in time, the reciprocations of kindness and loyalty made him millions. A policeman once tore up my ticket when he recognized me as Ed's granddaughter ("I wouldn't have what I have without that man, he helped my parents so! You have a nice day, miss, and tell your pappy hello!") My grandaddy was always proud of himself, he made sure of that. A few weeks ago, the last time I saw him, and for the first time ever, he told me he was proud of me. We shared a cup of watermelon with salt. I tried to feed it to him and he rolled his eyes at me, Grandma hollering from the next room that he would spill it all over himself ("he's such a slob, you know"). He said "you know I was disappointed when you left the company. I wanted my whole family to be a part of it, to carry on what I started."
"I know, Grandaddy, I..."
"But you are doing what you want to do. You are starting from scratch, and giving up sure money to do what you dream about. You're a leader, like me. I am so proud of you, Morgan." I thanked him. I kissed his forehead. I said goodbye.
Everett Lee Molden, August 19, 1914 - April 24, 2007