Blogging My Autobiography - Chapter 4

Grace, Ted, Esther and Billy. These are the names of my grandparents. My grandma Esther was married four times and I knew 2 of them. My blood grandfather I didn’t know but one of my brothers is the image of him. The grandfather of my childhood is Grandpa Billy. He passed away when I was 5 years old. I remember him well, though. He was a good man, British through and through with that sly, dry British wit. He would do magic tricks for me like make a coin disappear and then reappear from my ear or nose or mouth. It seemed to me that he laughed a lot and didn’t get overly serious. He also had a turquoise Plymouth with plastic covering the seats. This was a good thing when hauling a young boy with a propensity for car sickness. I don’t remember losing my lunch in the car, but I do remember that he pulled over so I could puke my guts out on the side of the road. When we were done, we were off with a laugh. My Grandmother Esther laughed a lot too, with Billy. Not as much in the time after he died. He was good for her I think.

Grandmother Esther was a salty sort, having grown up in the lower areas of an English seaport. It is true what they say about sailor’s tongues. Her father was a sailor and she could keep up with anyone in the “salt” department. It made me laugh as a child, the way she just spoke out about things and in many ways treated me as an adult. Probably the first person to do so. The scenes that come to mind are later in life for her. She loved to go fishing and would often take me with her to the river and reservoirs near her home. I do remember her bemoaning the differences between men and women when nature called while out in Nature. See the explanation above around “salty.” I remember staying with her overnight many times. One scene in my minds eye is me sitting at a little table in her kitchen. She was bustling about and Grandpa Earl (No. 4) was sitting at the table with me eating canned potatoes cold from the can. He ate them with such relish that I wondered what they tasted like. He gave me a bite and I love them to this day. Cold, with a little salt, thank you.

My other grandparents, Grace and Ted were as different as people could be. She, always in charge with a mouth that never stopped, except once that I remember. He, quiet, humble, with a wink that made you see him as a young man who knew how to have fun. I loved them a great deal. When I knew they were coming, I would sit by the picture window in our front room and look for the truck, the Chiseler or the Black Buick to roll up. Then I would run to greet them and was always rewarded with a hug and a smile and often a little treat, just for me. Even better than them coming was going to their house which sat on 2.5 acres of land in a small rural community. I was related to everyone in that community which we will talk about in another chapter. Their house was wonderful, with secret passages, a big dusty barn to explore, trees to climb and chores to do. Somehow they made the chores fun. I remember a cultivator they had. It was simple, just a steel hoop with spokes attached to two large wooden handles and a small hoe behind the wheel. I would run all over with it, even through the garden as long as I stayed between the rows. The earth was sandy out there near the lake and turned over easily so that even a small boy could kill the weeds with his mighty cultivator! My Grandma Grace would often be out there with me, picking vegetables for that day’s meals and talking to me, always talking. She was full of stories and gossip and, being the town postmaster, knew everything about everyone. I loved just hearing her talk. She had a sharp tongue, though so you had to mind your P’s and Q’s as she put it. Otherwise you were on the receiving end of that weapon and it was not pleasant. I think it is a genetic thing, because my daughter has the same edge on her tongue, though she controls it much better.

The only time I remember her stopping was late in her life. My Grandfather was out in the yard, in his walker, raking leaves. I was a teenager by this time and was helping with the yard work, mowing the lawn. My Grandma Grace came out and started to lay into my grandfather. He took it for a while and I could see his frustration building. Finally he turned to her and said, “Shut up, woman.” She stopped in mid word, closed her mouth and turned back into the house. I was shocked and amazed by this turn of events. I looked at my grandfather who had gone back to raking leaves, who gave me a sideways look and then a wink. I learned volumes that day about their relationship and cemented my understanding of my grandfather. He was not only kind and gentle, he had a strength that ran deep. He was always doing work for other people, much to my grandmother’s chagrin. She would rather he put his energy into their lives and place. He would rather serve, like his father who often let his own fields lie untended while he helped others. My grandfather was a boys dream. He was the deputy sheriff and then the fire chief. I don’t remember him as a lawman but I do remember the fire station. There were fire engines, a pole, sirens and even an old Dalmatian named King. Heaven for any young boy. I was allowed to slide down the pole and even sound the siren when I visited there. The men would be sitting around talking but their hands were always busy, polishing, fixing or lubricating some fascinating bit of their equipment. I watched and learned how men talk to one another there.I also learned work from my grandfather. He was in charge of his county’s booth at the State Fair. A couple of years, I was allowed to go help him set up, even getting out of school to do so. One year, television cameras were there, taking pictures of us working and I worried that my teacher would see me. Grandpa Ted just laughed and said he would talk to her if there was a problem. He and I just chatted about what was going on in my life. Mostly I chattered and he listened, all the while, he was setting up displays, making sure every apple, pear, squash or pumpkin was polished and set just so. To this day I do a better job while I am talking to someone which is convenient, since all I do is talk on the phone.


We are the sum of those that create us and teach us. My grandparents all helped create me, I have each of them in me, the gift of gab, the boyish wink, the laughing magician and yes, even the salty tongue. I love that I see each of them in myself and am grateful for all their influences.