I am procrastinating - procrastinating packing for a last minute ticket purchase. I wish I could say it was a spontaneous trip to the Bahamas, or to visit old friends in London, rather, it is much more somber trip, a trip to my granddad's funeral. I decided to bring one of my daughter's first grade school projects, you know the kind "Interview your oldest living relative." She did it years ago and Granddaddy was here target.
I was flipping through the pages not believing that the handwriting on the page belonged to my almost teenager, but what was even more amazing were the stories those floppy l's and downward sloping lines told. I had grown up listening to Granddaddy's stories, and while they were entertaining and adventure filled, they weren't any of the ones on the page. In this book, there were stories he told of teasing his brother with frogs, and his father enrolling him in CCC when he was 15 - 3 years before eligibility. He told the stories of a three room house where he and his brother slept on the floor so his sisters could have a bed. They were stories of a different time.
When asked what toys he had growing up, he said a little red wagon. period. He went to eight grade, 3 times, not because he couldn't cut it, but because there wasn't a high school for him to attend, and his love for school brought him back year after year. He told us of being so clumsy on the basketball team they invented a new position for him - on the bench.
My favorite story was one he tells of meeting a pretty girl on the bus and how he married that girl and raised 5 girls of their own. He earned his GED, went back to college, was a high school civics teacher, a WWII vet, a pastor, a farmer and volunteered thousands of hours at the local hospital after his high school sweetheart died there, too young, too soon.
And through every nook and cranny, he told stories.
I think it was his way to connect the dots of his life, of his family, and to the world around him. Looking back over his life, it is easy to see that in all the stories, every darn one of them, they revolved around people. His life centered around people, serving them, loving them, educating them and giving to them. Sure he had many accomplishments, many feathers in his cap and fetes he overcame, but if I were to look at his life like a book, I would see throughout the pages and pages his love and care for others.
I guess the story will continue...with 5 daughters and a multitude of grandchildren and great grandchildren, how could it not? I am thankful now, for that hours long project sitting with my daughter slowly and patiently coaxing a six year old to write down every word because now I can't think of a better gift to keep, than the story of his life.
