This week as we prepare to lay David’s dad to rest more and more stories has been shared about his life. I love how a lot of those stories include Charlie from the LOVE of David’s big rig Barney which matched Charlie’s second Birthday cake to the Sundays he spent with his grandparents.
In our family some of the most precious family memories are never planned. They aren’t built around expensive vacations or elaborate celebrations. They’re made in ordinary moments that happen over and over until one day you realize those ordinary moments became the foundation of your family’s story.
For our family, Sundays meant one thing: grocery shopping with David at Kroger’s in Haltom City. Every Sunday, David and I would head to the store, and Charlie knew exactly where he was going. We would drop him off with Papa and Grandma before we started our errands.
Grandma always made sure she was home because she knew Charlie was coming. She never expected us to pack toys or entertainment. She already had everything waiting for him. Snacks and drinks weren’t needed either because Charlie and his Pap liked Grape Kool-Aid and Puffed Cheetos and a Sandwich for Pa.
Right beside Grandpa’s recliner sat Grandma’s chair, and between them was a little table that held Grandpa’s medicine, his drinks, and the things he needed throughout the day. Tucked on the shelf hidden away by Grandpa’s chair was a basket filled with Hot Wheels cars.
Those weren’t just any toy cars. They were Charlie’s Sunday cars. No matter who else came to visit, everyone knew those cars belonged in that basket. Charlie would carefully take them out as soon as he arrived, spending hours driving them across the table, the floor, and even Grandpa’s lap.
When it was time to go home, every single car went back into the basket, waiting for the next Sunday. Time and time again Granny and Papa asked Charlie if he wanted to bring any of the cars home and he always said no, these are my papa’s cars and in a way they were.
Looking back now, it wasn’t really about the toys. It was about the time. Grandpa would gently lift Charlie onto the space between his chair and Grandma’s recliner. Sandwiched between the two people who loved him most, Charlie would settle in for the afternoon while Grandpa watched his favorite westerns, an episode of NCIS, or whatever movie happened to be playing that day.
Sometimes they talked. Sometimes they laughed. Sometimes they simply sat together in comfortable silence while little toy cars rolled across Grandpa’s lap. Those quiet afternoons became traditions without any of us realizing it. Once in a while Charlie would get down and follow Grandma through the house but at the end of the day he always ended back up by his Papa.
It was during those Sundays that Charlie developed his love for movies. Grandpa enjoyed sharing his favorites, and before long Charlie was asking to watch them again and again. One of the movies they both loved was Save the Last Dance. Between Grandpa’s collection and the movies we watched together at home, Charlie discovered that stories could make you laugh, cry, dream, and remember.
Years later, I don’t remember every grocery trip we made. I don’t remember everything we bought. But I remember that basket of Hot Wheels. I remember Grandpa’s recliner. I remember Charlie sitting safely between Grandpa and Grandma as if there were no better place in the world to be. Those are the memories that stay.
Children rarely remember the price of a toy or what was for dinner on a random Sunday afternoon. They remember who made them feel loved. They remember who made room for them. They remember who always had a special place waiting just for them. I hope if and when Charlie has children of his own I’m able to create these types of memories with them.
Grandpa didn’t need grand adventures to leave a lasting legacy. He simply kept a basket of Hot Wheels beside his chair. He made space for his grandson every single Sunday. He gave Charlie something far greater than toys. He gave him time. He gave him unconditional love and so did Granny.
As I look back today, I realize those Sundays weren’t interruptions to life—they were life. They remind me that the little things we do consistently often become the biggest memories our children carry into adulthood. Love isn’t always spoken more times than not its shown in the little things we do like a basket of hot wheel cars.
Other times love looks like an old recliner, a basket of toy cars, a favorite television show playing in the background, and a grandfather making sure his grandson always had a place beside him. Those little moments are still traveling with Charlie today. And because we remember them, the circle remains unbroken.
Next Chapter: Post 3: The Moments We Show Up For (Chapter 3 — The Pink Graduation Gown and The People Who Cheered Us On)
Let us know if you enjoyed this post!
Like
Love
Happy
Haha
Sad
