My grandfather, George Chester Cason, grew up in the cotton country of south Georgia. A strong-headed man, he never finished school, and left Blackshear at an early age to find his own way. He found work as a crewman, a cook on the Eva, a yacht owned by Arthur Atwater Kent (yes, I am named after my grandfather’s employer) which sailed up and down the eastern coast. He met and married my grandmother, Charlotte Rosse, in Philadelphia and eventually they moved to Kansas City, Missouri. From all accounts, there was nothing extraordinary about his life. He worked hard, raised a family, and drank too much. Growing up, I would see my grandparents once or twice a year. Most of our vacations were to Kansas City, where we could see both sides of the family. When we got together, there were endless games of chess. Grandpa taught me how to play when I was 6. When we were apart we played chess by mail, which could mean weeks between moves. I loved those letters.
He hated rock and roll but he’d listen to me play guitar anyway. Sometimes he’d make fun of the “Yeah, Yeah, Yeah” and “Baby” in every song, but he listened and he clapped when I was done no matter how bad it was.
He taught me about the night sky. He was an avid astronomer. There was always astronomy books strewn around the pipe stand by his recliner. I remember sitting in his chair, trying to read the books that were way beyond my level. Sometimes he would explain them to me, but mostly just left me to work it out myself, the way he learned. At night we’d go out and identify the constellations. When it was visible, he’d always point out Cassiopeia because it made me laugh (little boy humor).
There were also the times he terrified my mother. Like when he lowered me by my ankles into the bear pit at the Pocono Animal Farm so I could feed crackers to the black bears. I was 3 or 4. Momma was not happy.
Grandpa Chet passed away the year my eldest son was born.
Like my grandfather, I see my grandchildren once or twice a year. I wonder what kind of impression I will make. What will they remember when they are grown? What heritage will they have? I am not my grandfather, and my grandkids are not me. I tried to teach my grandson about chess. We talked about shooting marbles. He’s more interested in Minecraft and Pokemon. I want to leave them something that will last. The only thing I know is this. Connect with them where they are. Love them boundlessly. Let them know that they are princes and princesses. Tell them that grandpa loves them every chance I can, and above all let them know that Jesus loves them too.