Jacket Mystery

Growing up I loved to visit my grandparents. My family lived 10 hours by car away from them so our visits usually involved a holiday like Thanksgiving or Christmas. I really did not like the fact we lived so far away when I was young but now realize the distance and limited frequency made the visits all the more special. I did not understand why my cousins who lived just blocks from my grandparents never seemed excited to be at their house. But do now. It was commonplace for them and not seen as a special occasion. It was just another day over at Nana and Grandpa's house where there were no toys, no basketball hoop, no roughhousing and the only tv was in the room where the adults gathered so it was not allowed to be on. To me, none of that mattered. I would follow my Nana in and out of the kitchen helping in any way I could. I would run and get my Grandpa another bottle of beer when he asked. My Grandpa was a big man. Stood 6 feet 4 inches and to me, as a child was the largest person I knew. He was an ex-police officer who used to patrol the neighborhood streets with his german shepherd police dog named King. Sometimes my Grandpa would let me walk around the neighborhood with him and King. I felt invincible walking with my police officer grandpa and his sidekick King. Everyone we passed, whether they were out walking, driving by or sitting on the front porch, would say hello to my grandpa. Hello, Officer Rybacki was heard throughout our walk. The children that lived in the neighborhood would come over to pet King. Thinking back I am not sure if King was much of a police dog as he was so friendly and more a companion than anything else. But to be with my grandpa who I loved so much and seeing the respect everyone gave him made me all the more proud to be his grandson.

One thing about my grandpa was that he was never without a cigar, even when on patrol with King. It may not have always been lit but there always seemed to be a cigar, the short and fat kind, between his lips jutting out to the left side of his mouth. When he talked he didn't have to remove the cigar, he just spoke out of the right side of his mouth. My grandpa could do anything!

His cigar smoke permeated everything and is a scent that even today brings back memories of him fresh to my mind.

At the end of the neighborhood patrol, we would always stop at the local corner bar. Every neighborhood had at least one and his favorite haunt was Club 29. We would walk into the dimly lit, smoky room which had about a dozen seats at the bar and 3 or 4 four-person tables. We would always take a seat at the bar. My grandpa would say hello to everyone and introduce me around which made me feel so important. We would belly up to the bar, his large 6' 4" frame and my 70 pounds of pride. Grandpa would order up a bottle of beer, Blatz, nothing but Blatz, and a coke for me. Both were served in the bottle accompanied by a small 6-ounce glass. As we slowly pour our drinks into the glasses I would try to get a foamy top with my coke just like he did with his beer. We would clink our glasses, say "bumps" and take a sip in unison. When we were finished with our drinks my grandpa would reach for his wallet to pay but never once did money make it out of his wallet. It was either the bartender saying it's on the house or the man sitting next to us tossing a dollar on the bar. We would then make our way to the door and say goodbye to all those we greeted on the way in. It may not have been the best environment to take a young person to but the memories made are still so special.

When I was 10 I got to spend a week, without either of my siblings, at my grandparent's house. I was over the moon excited as my parents drove away knowing I was going to be the only one at my grandparent's house for a whole week. I would get spoiled by Nana with treats and get to patrol the neighborhood with grandpa and King. I knew we would also get to stop at Club 29 a time or two where I was "one of the guys".

The week was as magical as I could have imagined. But like all good things, the week was over far to fast. The day before my parents came to pick me up my grandpa had me follow him to the attic. He went over to a large steamer trunk, opened it and pulled out a jacket. It was way too big for me but he said he wanted me to have it and that one day it would fit. My grandpa told me his father, a man I never met, had given him the jacket when he was moving out of the house after he graduated from High School and had gotten his first job at the Heil machine factory. His father said that as long as he had this jacket he would never be broke. His father pointed out that the inside pocket was sewn shut and that if he was ever in a desperate situation that then and only then should he open the pocket. My grandpa said there had been many times in his life when he wanted to open the pocket just to see what his father had placed inside. Was it something inspirational, a bible quote perhaps, as he was a very spirit-filled man or was it something more tangible like money? Over the years as the jacket became a bit tattered my grandpa considered opening the pocket before discarding the jacket but thought about his father's words and how someday maybe he could pass the mystery on to his son. We'll my grandpa ended up having 3 daughters and the coat was nothing any of the girls would wear. All three daughters got married so he thought perhaps one of his sons in law would be worthy of the jacket. He loved them all, including my father who married his oldest daughter but just never felt right about picking one of the three. He shared all this with me and told me he had been praying about whether I should be the one to get the jacket and how he had peace about the decision when he decided I was the one to get the jacket. My grandpa told me like his father told him that as long as I had this jacket I would never go broke. He told me that as much as I would want to open the pocket that I should only do so if I was in a dire situation and really needed help. He said that like a Christmas gift, once it has been opened the mystery is gone and there is no more anticipation. Hard for a 10-year-old to understand but as I got older I understood what he said. There were times in my life when I really wanted to open the pocket, hoping to find a small fortune so I could buy that new baseball glove, shiny bike or that one thing I just had to have. But each time I thought back to sitting in the attic with my grandpa and the words he told me about how his father had given the jacket to him with the special instructions about the mystery inside. I did not want to be the one to end the mystery and certainly never was in a truly dire situation so I kept the pocket sewn shut.

As life went on the jacket was retired from normal wear and was carefully packed away in my attic. I was married and had shared the story with my wife. She agreed the mystery was not ours to unveil. Even though there were some hard times and being broke was just around the corner, we kept the pocket sewn shut.

We ended up having 2 children, both daughters and although I shared the story with them they never expressed interest in having the jacket to wear. The jacket stayed in storage with the mystery intact.

Both our daughters have gotten married over the years. One has a daughter and one a son. I thought about whether it was time to pass the jacket and mystery on. Like my grandpa, I did not think the jacket should be passed on to one of my sons in law. I began to think about whether my grandson was ready for the responsibility. He was 9, soon to be 10 in a few months. We were going to visit them for his birthday and that would be an opportunity for me to pass on the jacket and mystery. I prayed about it and came to the decision that yes, my grandson would be the next person to take possession of the jacket and mystery. Not a small thing as I learned over the years but I was confident he would be a great caretaker and if he was ever in need the jacket would be there to help through the mystery contained in the pocket.

It was the day of his birthday and after all the gifts were opened and cake consumed I asked my grandson to come with me. We went outside and sat under a tree in his back yard. Out of sight from the rest of the family and far enough away where we could be alone without interruption. I handed him a box and before he opened it I asked him to think about how he was feeling holding the gift in his hand and not knowing what was inside the box. He expressed his excitement and appreciation for the unknown gift. I then told him how once the gift was opened the excitement and anticipation would change and the unknown would be exposed forever. I told him I wanted him to open the gift and that what we just discussed would be more clear once the box was opened. He then slowly opened the box and with no words gave me an inquisitive look. I said I know this is certainly not what you were hoping for or something you could even use now but let me tell you the story. I then shared how the jacket had been given to my grandpa by his father and how he then passed it to me and that I was now passing it to him. I showed him the pocket that was sewn shut and contained the unknown mystery. I explained how having this jacket meant you would never be broke although I did not know exactly what that meant as I did not know what the pocket contained. I explained how the mystery of the jacket once opened would no longer be a mystery and of the great responsibility, the person who possessed the jacket had. I asked him if he understood and what questions he had. He looked at me, gave me a hug and said "Grandpa, I will take good care of the jacket and the mystery. Some day maybe I can give it to my grandson". I smiled and knew the decision I made as to who should be next in line to possess the jacket was correct.

I had told his parents in advance what I was planning to do and they were so excited. They knew about the jacket and the mystery and promised to help their son be a good caretaker of the jacket.

That birthday was 32 years ago. My life has been good and my days now are numbered. I am confident in my eternity so I am prepared for the next chapter. These days I spend my hours in a bed, drifting in and out of cognizance. I have a hard time recalling names and faces, events or places and rely upon the people, family I think, to help me in my recollections. Although the other day a man came to my room and said "Hi grandpa. It's me your grandson". I gave him a welcoming hello to create the impression I knew who he was but sadly I didn't. He said he wanted to show me something. He opened a box and pulled out what to most was a ratty old jacket but I knew in an instant what the jacket was. A tear rolled down my cheek as I asked him to bring the jacket closer. He laid the jacket on my chest and for a moment I could smell the cigar smoke and memories flooded my fading senses. I wrapped my arms around the jacket and gave it a hug like it was a friend not seen for a long long time. Then a memory flashed into my mind. My hand slowly slid inside the jacket searching for the pocket. My grandson saw what I was doing and helped guide my hand to the pocket. He whispered, "the mystery is still there" and I could see tears stream down his cheeks. My fingers felt the edge of the pocket and I could feel it was still sewn shut. I reached for his hand and we both placed our hands over the mystery in the pocket. We did not say a word as no words were necessary.

As he was leaving, the jacket was still on my chest. I told him he forgot his jacket. He said the jacket did not belong to him but that he was only a caretaker. He said it was my turn to once again be the caretaker of the jacket and guard the mystery. I thanked him and made him promise to take the jacket back once I was gone. He nodded, turned and left the room.

I keep the jacket by my side with the mystery close to my heart. It brings me comfort to know the mystery is safe with me, for now, no matter what it is. I do not know who after my grandson will be the keeper of the jacket and the mystery or how long the mystery will remain but I know how the excitement and anticipation of the mystery will remain for as long as the pocket remains sewn shut.

As I live my last days I often find myself thinking about the mystery and how it has been passed down throughout the years. It has become so clear how the value of the mystery is not in what is contained within the jacket pocket but rather in the story, the hope, the strength and the encouragement it has provided.