The Stabbing Pen

Unfortunately I have sad news to report. The day before this past Thanksgiving, my maternal grandfather Sam Robinson passed away at a healthy 94.   My mom, dad, sister, aunt, uncle, cousin, grandma, grandpa, and myself were all on a cruise ship in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, headed toward Mazatlan, Mexico.

The following is the understatement of the year:  His death was an untimely inconvenience.   I won’t get into the details of his passing, because it’s his life that I will remember overwhelmingly.  Anyway, my grandma asked for a hard copy of my eulogy/speech, so I figured since it’s typed out already, it feels appropriate to share…

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“I really don’t know what to focus on here, because my memories of Grandpa Sammy are seemingly endless. I’m certain that in the coming days, weeks, months, and years of my life, that all the wonderful times shared with Sammy shall be recalled in my mind.

It’s a been long time since Queens, NY and my childhood, and although he’ll always be my Grandpa Sammy, somewhere along the line he just became Sammy to me. In addition to being my blood, he is also my friend. This is something I was fortunate enough share with both Sammy and Lotte (my grandma) at an Anniversary party for them several years ago — the idea that these people are not just family, but true friends who I actually enjoy spending time with. In many families kids can dread spending time with their elders, but I never felt that way once. Whether I was 4, 14, 24, or 27, I always looked forward to hanging out with Sammy.

I’m sure a lot of what I’m saying and going to say has been said already, but I can’t underestimate how much we all admire the man’s dedication to work, friends, family, his art, and even his country. He approached everything in his life with love and passion, and if I’m approaching my life with even half of Sammy’s fervor, then I’d say doing pretty well.

I can be a bit selfish at times, and somewhat of a complainer, but this was never Sammy’s style. He never wanted to be a burden to anyone, and the man’s selflessness is exemplified in the following story from my childhood.

I must’ve been about 5, and my sister and I were on vacation with Sammy and Lotte. My sister and I were swimming in a hotel pool. With Lotte elsewhere, Sammy kept an eye on us. At the time, I hadn’t yet learned how to swim, so as long as I was in the shallow water where I could stand, I was fine. My sister, a more accomplished swimmer, kept going on, “Look how good you’re doing. If you can swim here, you can swim in the deep end too.” So before I knew it, she was pulling me into the deeper water. Needless to say I started panicking and wildly flailing my arms. Sammy took notice, and without hesitation, jumped into the pool to save me — with all of his clothes on.

Unfortunately, there was a problem. Sammy didn’t know how to swim either! But it’s amazing what people can do under crisis, and Sammy had little trouble pulling me out of the pool to safety. Well, it didn’t hurt that the “deep water” couldn’t have been much more than 5 feet deep. But that’s not the point. The point is that without hesitation, Sammy put me above himself, even if it meant putting himself at some risk.

And this is always how he approached his life — with love, courage, and generosity. Besides the memory of this story, I gained something else here. For the rest of my life, no matter what bad things I ever say or do to my sister, it can never be as bad as the time when she tried to drown me. I’ll always be able to cite this, and use it as leverage against her.

Anyway, Sammy’s legacy will always live on in stories and memories, but his art is something tangible that future generations can enjoy and appreciate. One of my favorite paintings of his is hanging up right now in my bedroom. It’s a re-creation of some random items from the old house in Queens — items from the basement. So many of my most joyous memories took place in that basement. Whether it was woodworking or doing photography in the darkroom, it was always fun visiting Sammy.

What intrigues me most about this particular painting is that the items in it aren’t painted to scale. The old wooden sled in real life was larger than the clock and model ship.  Yet in this painting the images are of comparable size.

That’s what I love, it’s painted almost as if it’s from a memory, yet is very vivid and colorful. This reminds me how lucky I am. That even though Sammy’s gone, I have such fond and colorful memories of him, that will be vivid for the rest of my life.

I hope someday that my family and I can accumulate all of Sammy’s paintings, photographs, and other artwork, and set it up in a space for public viewing. I realize that this is a gargantuan task, and isn’t an urgent one, but I feel that articulating this idea aloud is the first step toward making it all come to fruition. I want to give the public an opportunity to see all the wonderful artwork that I’ve been taking for granted for years.

I’m not sure how to wrap this up, other than to say I love Sam Robinson very much, and will never forget him.”