My grand-dad is a quiet man. He always has been, for at least as long as I can remember.
But don’t get me wrong, he’s not quiet in the sense that he sits around and doesn’t talk to anybody. That’s not true about him at all – he’s always enjoyed joking around and telling good stories. What I mean by quiet is that he thinks about what he says before he says it. Looking back, I can’t think of a single time that he ever went off the deep end and yelled at me, not even when I broke the lock on his car trying to pick it with a piece of copper wire. Sure, he was mad, but he wasn’t loud. He was calm and in control, and that made me listen. His quiet way of dealing with things worked, and I really admire that now that I’m a dad myself.
I admire it even more when I think about how hard he worked back then. I mean, I work two jobs now to take care of my family, and my temper gets short, but I’m super-lazy compared to how hardworking he was and still is. I learned that about him first hand when I was nine and my mom and I moved in with him and my grandma.
He worked at the glass plant then, but he still made time to farm a couple of fields, keep a few cows, and get us all to church three or more times each week. And when he finally retired, he didn’t just kick his heels back and take it easy. No, he cut wood, bush-hogged fields, planted fruit trees, and took care of the house, the church, and all of us whenever we needed it. When he got sick a few times, he always bounced right back up and got right to work. When my grandma got really sick, he cut back on some things around the farm but worked extra hard taking care of her.
Now that I’m in my thirties, I look back and really admire how quietly and patiently he works at taking care of everything. But as a kid, I didn’t appreciate all that extra labor, especially in the garden – I was a city boy at heart, I guess, and enjoyed the air conditioning too much. I’d always sneak back to the house to cool off or play a quick game until my mom made me go back and help. I just didn’t understand back then why we had to do all that extra work. I sure didn’t mind the fresh corn on the cob and beans when my grandma cooked them though.
A lot of years have passed since then, and a lot has changed. I still like to eat, but we lost my grandma this year, and the garden’s not as big as it was when I was a kid. But this much hasn’t changed though – my grand-dad can still work circles around me and a lot of people who are only a quarter of his age. He never boasts about it though, and he never tries to make anyone feel bad. He just keeps moving along and getting things done.
I guess it’s a combination of his being quiet and always working so hard that makes me admire him so much. I have three little children that I want to be a good example to, and so did he when my mom was little. I know that it’s hard for me to work hard and then keep calm when my kids act crazy, so I think about him when I get really stressed.
I remember a story my mom tells me about my grand-dad getting mad at her when she was little. She’s the oldest and was maybe four or five at the time, my uncle was a couple of years behind her, and my aunt was only a little baby. My grandma had gotten the whole family going to church, and she and my grand-dad were both pretty strict about having their children behave during the services.
The church was a little building with a narrow auditorium made all out of wood. There was no carpet on the floor and no padding on the seats. My mom says that every little sound echoed in that auditorium. They had to sit extra quiet and not kick their heels on the chairs or play with little toys or do anything noisy. My grand-dad especially didn’t want them misbehaving and disrupting the services.
Well, on the day that my mom talks about, the preacher was in the middle of his sermon when a big swarm of termites buzzed in through an open window. My mom remembers sitting and staring at them, but a look from my grand-dad was enough to keep her in her seat and quiet. Then, the termites flew up and started hovering around the preacher, who just kept preaching the Word like nothing was happening. It was too much for my mom, who jumped up and ran out into the aisle to get a better look. She says those termites kept circling in the light over the preacher's head like a big halo. She pointed and jumped and called to her brother to come see the bugs on the preacher’s head until my grand-dad scooped her up and took her out. She laughs about it now when she tells the story at family get-togethers, and she has a few more like it.
What I admire though is that she always starts off the stories by telling about what she or my aunt and uncle did to get in trouble and then finishes with how my grand-dad corrected them. He didn’t scream, he didn’t lose his temper, he didn’t throw things or scare them half to death. He just quietly explained what they did wrong and worked at getting them to do better the next time.
I admire that about him, and I hope that I can work at being a dad and later a grand-dad that’s even a quarter of the kind of man that he is.
But don’t get me wrong, he’s not quiet in the sense that he sits around and doesn’t talk to anybody. That’s not true about him at all – he’s always enjoyed joking around and telling good stories. What I mean by quiet is that he thinks about what he says before he says it. Looking back, I can’t think of a single time that he ever went off the deep end and yelled at me, not even when I broke the lock on his car trying to pick it with a piece of copper wire. Sure, he was mad, but he wasn’t loud. He was calm and in control, and that made me listen. His quiet way of dealing with things worked, and I really admire that now that I’m a dad myself.
I admire it even more when I think about how hard he worked back then. I mean, I work two jobs now to take care of my family, and my temper gets short, but I’m super-lazy compared to how hardworking he was and still is. I learned that about him first hand when I was nine and my mom and I moved in with him and my grandma.
He worked at the glass plant then, but he still made time to farm a couple of fields, keep a few cows, and get us all to church three or more times each week. And when he finally retired, he didn’t just kick his heels back and take it easy. No, he cut wood, bush-hogged fields, planted fruit trees, and took care of the house, the church, and all of us whenever we needed it. When he got sick a few times, he always bounced right back up and got right to work. When my grandma got really sick, he cut back on some things around the farm but worked extra hard taking care of her.
Now that I’m in my thirties, I look back and really admire how quietly and patiently he works at taking care of everything. But as a kid, I didn’t appreciate all that extra labor, especially in the garden – I was a city boy at heart, I guess, and enjoyed the air conditioning too much. I’d always sneak back to the house to cool off or play a quick game until my mom made me go back and help. I just didn’t understand back then why we had to do all that extra work. I sure didn’t mind the fresh corn on the cob and beans when my grandma cooked them though.
A lot of years have passed since then, and a lot has changed. I still like to eat, but we lost my grandma this year, and the garden’s not as big as it was when I was a kid. But this much hasn’t changed though – my grand-dad can still work circles around me and a lot of people who are only a quarter of his age. He never boasts about it though, and he never tries to make anyone feel bad. He just keeps moving along and getting things done.
I guess it’s a combination of his being quiet and always working so hard that makes me admire him so much. I have three little children that I want to be a good example to, and so did he when my mom was little. I know that it’s hard for me to work hard and then keep calm when my kids act crazy, so I think about him when I get really stressed.
I remember a story my mom tells me about my grand-dad getting mad at her when she was little. She’s the oldest and was maybe four or five at the time, my uncle was a couple of years behind her, and my aunt was only a little baby. My grandma had gotten the whole family going to church, and she and my grand-dad were both pretty strict about having their children behave during the services.
The church was a little building with a narrow auditorium made all out of wood. There was no carpet on the floor and no padding on the seats. My mom says that every little sound echoed in that auditorium. They had to sit extra quiet and not kick their heels on the chairs or play with little toys or do anything noisy. My grand-dad especially didn’t want them misbehaving and disrupting the services.
Well, on the day that my mom talks about, the preacher was in the middle of his sermon when a big swarm of termites buzzed in through an open window. My mom remembers sitting and staring at them, but a look from my grand-dad was enough to keep her in her seat and quiet. Then, the termites flew up and started hovering around the preacher, who just kept preaching the Word like nothing was happening. It was too much for my mom, who jumped up and ran out into the aisle to get a better look. She says those termites kept circling in the light over the preacher's head like a big halo. She pointed and jumped and called to her brother to come see the bugs on the preacher’s head until my grand-dad scooped her up and took her out. She laughs about it now when she tells the story at family get-togethers, and she has a few more like it.
What I admire though is that she always starts off the stories by telling about what she or my aunt and uncle did to get in trouble and then finishes with how my grand-dad corrected them. He didn’t scream, he didn’t lose his temper, he didn’t throw things or scare them half to death. He just quietly explained what they did wrong and worked at getting them to do better the next time.
I admire that about him, and I hope that I can work at being a dad and later a grand-dad that’s even a quarter of the kind of man that he is.
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