I’ll write about my dear grandmother at another time, but I want to spend this post talking about Grandpa, my paternal grandfather, who would have been 126 this year. Born in the late 1800s, he grew up very poor and never achieved any material wealth or prominence. But he was rich in the things that matter–honor, love for family and country and compassion for all living things.

When he was 23, he married my grandmother who was 12–yes 12. They were married for more than 62 years when he died from a stroke.

Not Terribly Ambitious

Grandpa wasn’t a terribly ambitious man, though taking care of his family was important. He by-passed offers for promotions. But he was a loving husband and father. He perhaps felt his primary life’s task was caring for his family, going to church and by the 1950s watching the “Saturday Night Fights” on my grandparents’ old black and white television set.

Depression Hit

He took a hard blow in the Great Depression when the small home he had managed to buy for his family was lost to foreclosure. And during that time he went week in and week out looking for work without success. He never quite recovered from those bad times.

When things improved, he spent the last years working for a Kansas City mattress manufacturer, which gave him a gold watch upon retirement. When he wasn’t working, he was toting coal for the heater or working with my grandmother on their large and very productive garden.

Whatchu Want?

One phrase I remember so clearly from him was when I’d say, “Grandpa.” And he’d respond with “Whatchu want, a punch in the nose?” I’d always laugh, then get to what I REALLY wanted. I find myself repeating the same phrase with my grandson, who also laughs!

My Dad Was Their Only Child

Dad was my grandparents’ only child. And they speculated occasionally that he was adopted. He was born two years ago their marriage. And one of my grandmother’s cousins once mentioned to mother, “How well the adoption worked out.” But my father looked a bit like Grandpa, so that’s a little hard to believe. Guess it doesn’t much matter now.

Daily Trip With Dad

After Grandpa retired, my grandparents sold their old home in Kansas City, which they’d inherited from my great-grandmother. They moved to my rural hometown to be near my parents, my sister and I. They rented for awhile, then Dad managed to help them buy a small two-bedroom, one-bath house. They were elated.

And Grandpa’s joy every day was going “uptown” with Dad when he checked the mail and went to work in the morning. He’d stop at a couple of shops and perhaps pick up some items, visit with merchants and other retirees, then wait for Dad. Dad, when he got a work break at his newspaper office, would then drive him back home. The picture in this blog post is of Grandpa looking at the “hot off the press” issue of my Dad’s weekly newspaper a year before he died.

My Dad’s Thoughts

In his Post Scripts column after Grandpa died, Dad wrote, “Each year of my life with Dad has been rewarding to me. I learned something from him each day about humility, integrity, sharing, honesty and faith in our Creator….

“Dad tried to be cheerful and pleasant at all times, too….He figured a spoonful of kindness mixed with a couple of dashes of good humor and cheer was a cure for many ills.”

Animal Orphanage

Grandpa couldn’t tolerate hurt to any human or animal being. And he and my grandmother used to attract all kinds of strays around their home, feeding them little tidbits, often more than they could afford. They also had a big bird feeder in the back yard. My grandparents had their “inside” pets too, a couple of dogs that Grandpa would walk twice a day and a couple of cats as well. The story is they got one of their dogs, a white sheepdog mix when Grandpa caught children throwing firecrackers and setting the dog’s coat on fire. He didn’t bother asking who owned the dog. He just brought it home.

Lessons Learned

I loved Grandpa’s pipe, though not his smelly cigars so much. But mostly, I just loved Grandpa, who always had a ready hug and warm smile. Everyone needs one of those grandpas.

 

The book Post Scripts is comprised of a selection of my father’s weekly columns, including the column about his father’s death. It is available at Amazon.com in paperback listed under the author Joe Snyder.