I was close to my grandpa when I was younger. He took me fishing all the time, and our trips to McDonald’s are the stuff of legends. I visited his grave out at Fort Bayard National Cemetery yesterday afternoon. I took a couple of flags, not knowing that flags are placed out there by groundskeepers. I also took my camera:
Visiting my grandfather’s grave always causes no small amount of introspection. It dates back to the summer of 1997, right after I graduated high school. His health was beginning to fail, though I knew little of it at the time. He pulled me aside one afternoon, and offered to pay for college. There was just one catch:
“If you stay here and go to Western, I’ll pay for your tuition.”
At the time, I was dead-set on music education, and wanted to get out of Silver City (as many young people do when they finish high school). Besides, I had a scholarship at NMSU which would pay for my tuition there. Nonetheless, his offer touched me, and I apologetically declined.
During the first few years of college, I didn’t see much of my grandpa – I was, after all, a two-hour drive away, and my time was occupied with marching band and learning how to be a bad student.
Our lives are shaped by the choices we make, and the smallest can have significant consequences – or rewards – that we can’t foresee. My decision to leave Silver City was a small one, I thought at the time, but was in fact a major one in hindsight.
When I think of my grandpa’s offer, I often wonder how drastically different my life would be. After a poor showing at NMSU, I returned to Silver City in late 1999 to work at Stream International, the town’s new call center. I had a little girl, and moved away to California for a year. I returned, and set my eyes on Western New Mexico University.
My career as a journalist began in 2004 as a political tactic, to try and stack the WNMU student newspaper and student government with like-minded individuals. That I would end up at WNMU five years after my grandfather asked me to attend the school is, in an unfortunate way, ironic.
My grandpa died in 1999, two years after I left. I miss him more than I could describe.
On Choices
I was close to my grandpa when I was younger. He took me fishing all the time, and our trips to McDonald’s are the stuff of legends. I visited his grave out at Fort Bayard National Cemetery yesterday afternoon. I took a couple of flags, not knowing that flags are placed out there by groundskeepers. I also took my camera:
Visiting my grandfather’s grave always causes no small amount of introspection. It dates back to the summer of 1997, right after I graduated high school. His health was beginning to fail, though I knew little of it at the time. He pulled me aside one afternoon, and offered to pay for college. There was just one catch:
At the time, I was dead-set on music education, and wanted to get out of Silver City (as many young people do when they finish high school). Besides, I had a scholarship at NMSU which would pay for my tuition there. Nonetheless, his offer touched me, and I apologetically declined.
During the first few years of college, I didn’t see much of my grandpa – I was, after all, a two-hour drive away, and my time was occupied with marching band and learning how to be a bad student.
Our lives are shaped by the choices we make, and the smallest can have significant consequences – or rewards – that we can’t foresee. My decision to leave Silver City was a small one, I thought at the time, but was in fact a major one in hindsight.
When I think of my grandpa’s offer, I often wonder how drastically different my life would be. After a poor showing at NMSU, I returned to Silver City in late 1999 to work at Stream International, the town’s new call center. I had a little girl, and moved away to California for a year. I returned, and set my eyes on Western New Mexico University.
My career as a journalist began in 2004 as a political tactic, to try and stack the WNMU student newspaper and student government with like-minded individuals. That I would end up at WNMU five years after my grandfather asked me to attend the school is, in an unfortunate way, ironic.
My grandpa died in 1999, two years after I left. I miss him more than I could describe.
Related Articles
Big Changes
I’m working on some major overhaul’s for the site, so, stay tuned this weekend.
State Senate Seat Contentions
There’s some interesting things going on in regards to finding somebody to fill Ben Altamirano’s seat in the New Mexico Legislature, evidenced...
Grandma’s Christmas Present
My family helped my grandmother pay off the last $2,500 or so on her mortgage this year as a Christmas present. I wasn’t in Silver City for the event,...