My Maternal Grandfather

James Hannigan—“Dad”

My maternal grandfather, James Hannigan, lived next door to us with my grandmother. We called him “Dad.” Because both of my parents worked, I often spent the late afternoon with my grandparents, becoming part of the familiar routine of their home.

Some of my fondest memories are of watching Dad play solitaire. He would sit in his armchair with another chair positioned in front of him as a makeshift table. There he would deal the cards, arrange them, and quietly play through the game. I did not play with him or even pay particular attention to the rules. I simply watched. When he had finished, he would often settle back into his chair and doze off for a nap.

Dad also loved to garden. I remember being outside with him as he planted radishes, sharing in one of the ordinary tasks that filled his days. I cannot recall an important conversation taking place between us as we worked. What stayed with me was the experience of being beside him, watching how carefully he tended the garden and being allowed to participate.

Our afternoons also included watching Huntley and Brinkley deliver the evening news and Perry Mason solve another courtroom mystery. These were not planned activities or special occasions. They were simply part of the dependable rhythm of time spent next door with my grandparents.

Like my memories of Mom in her kitchen, my memories of Dad are built from observation and routine: the cards spread across a chair, his afternoon nap, the radishes planted in the garden, and familiar television programs playing in the background. Nothing remarkable needed to happen. His steady presence next door was what made those ordinary afternoons memorable.