Grandpa Taught Me...

On the first day of October, everything seemed right in the world.  I was enjoying a McDonald's feast with my good friends as we were driving to Houston.  We had just witnessed out Texas Aggies come back from a half-time deficit to "beat the hell outta" Texas Tech.  We were on out way to see Alan Jackson, courtesy of some free tickets Paul had snagged from work.  Everything seemed perfect.

Somewhere in Houston, around eight in the evening, as we were trying to find the concert arena, a feeling came over me and let me know that, in fact, everything was not perfect. I can't really describe it.  It wasn't painful or melancholy, it was just a feeling.  When it went away, I was relieved.

The next morning, I was awakened by the alarming ring of the telephone, and that feeling woke up with me.  It was my dad; he told me that my Grandpa had died yesterday at eight in the evening.  My Dad and I consoled each other as best two people could do over the phone, and after confirming plans for the funeral, I hung up.  I sat and thought for a long time about Grandpa.  Nothing was perfect.

Grandpa was known to his friends as Johnny.  Born eighty years ago in Bremond, Texas, he was the youngest of fifteen children, and from all accounts, the most trouble of the lot.  He was constantly skipping school to go fishing with his buddy Ike.  He never skipped church or chores with his family, but he just didn't like school at all.

Grandpa went into the service in World War II and served in the Army Air Corps for five years.  One November, while on leave, he married Grandma; he went back to the service a day later.  Grandpa was always saying that there was no reason he shouldn't be working.

My most vivid memories of Grandpa are of him working.  My mother and I went to visit him once in the loading docks at Sears, where he worked for nearly thirty-five years.  I remember being in awe of that man who was lifting refrigerators over his head.  When I realized that it was my Grandpa, I was as full of pride and amazement as any four-year-old boy had a right to be.  All my friends heard about that tale, and all of them still hear about it.

Grandpa loved to work, and he worked all the time.  I know a part of him died when he was forced to retire at age sixty-five.  Even after "retirement", no day was complete without a lawn to mow, a garage to paint, a car to wash or a garden to plant.  He started every day at four-thirty in the morning to work in his garden, just doing quiet things like spreading seeds or pulling weeds so he didn't disturb anybody.  He always saved the noisy things like tilling soil or mowing the grass until later.  That way, if there were kids around they could help, because he knew how we loved the noisy machines.

Grandpa played as hard as he worked, whether it was dominoes, poker, Yahtzee, gin rummy or fishing.  I remember watching from under the kitchen table as he would sneak me a sip of his beer and spout out the most wonderful Polish curse words about his horrible hand or his rotten luck.

Grandpa always made time for us, because he never wanted s to wonder how he felt about us.  "Too much time worrying, about things that don't happen will kill you," he'd tell me.  "You'd be better off building something."  And so build we did.  In my attic, I have all the things we built together.  There are forts and swords and cars and guns up there that, one day, I'd like to give to my children so they'll have a piece of their Great-Grandpa.

There are certain facts that I know to be true because Grandpa taught them to me.  "There's no use fishing if the cows are lying down,"  he'd tell us.  To this day, I've never caught a fish when I've seen a lazy cow.  Grandpa taught me that cigarettes are bad and a cold beer is good. (He also taught me that one beer is more than enough for a six-year old.)  I know you can grow anything on bad land if you cuss it along.  I know that grass doesn't need mowing more than every two weeks, if you cut it right.  I know, "there's nothing that a table saw can mess up that's worth losing your hand over."  I also know a few Polish cuss words.

Grandpa taught me how to lead my life, and he taught me how to live.  I know not to complain.  Grandpa taught me this by going fifteen years without a raise at Sears.  He figured he wasn't working hard enough.  When the bookkeeping error was found, he received fifteen years of back pay and special recognition.  So I know that good things can happen if we wait for them.  Grandpa taught me to work as hard as I can at everything.  He told me, "Who the best is will always be in question, but who works hardest will never be in doubt."  Grandpa taught me to go to church, no matter what.  He said that going to school was important, but I don't think he really meant it.

Grandpa wasn't a perfect man.  He had his victories, and his failures, like all of us do.  Even through this, Grandpa taught me how to be a man.  He never let the successes go to his head, and he never let the setbacks get him down.  Grandpa just dealt with it all, keeping a level head.  He was true to himself at all times, and he sacrificed his body and time always, but never his will or soul.

Grandpa lived life for eighty-years, seven months and twenty-one days the way he wanted to.  He left behind a family he loved beyond question.  I know by the way he talked to me that he loved m, and I pray that I told him enough times that I loved him.  I know where he is now.  Everyone who knew him knows where he is now.  Just like always, if I need him, he'll help me.  He just can't be as obvious about it.  He didn't live to see me graduate from college, but he'll be there, even if he didn't like school.  Where he's sitting now, everything really is perfect.

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