My grandfather was a fairly stoic man. Of German decent, his heritage taught him strict work ethics, and he worked tirelessly throughout his entire life. Besides owning and operating a small farm north of Princeton, he also worked as a night watchman at Champion in Princeton. Needless to say — between those two responsibilities — he had little time for fun and games. Every day held chores, jobs, tasks, errands, etc. Never once do I remember Grandpa taking a nap on the couch or just frittering away the hours. There was no time to rest.
I spent a lot of time with Grandpa, and most of that time was spent working. I was the one who tagged along behind him. Even though he was a small man, it took three of my steps to keep up with one of his, but that was OK. I did my best to stick with him from as soon as the sun came up until long after it had set.
Now you might think a little girl would grow tired of “helping” Grandpa with all his work, but nothing could be further from the truth. I idolized that man, and he helped me grow into a responsible, hard-working adult. On the other hand, I just happen to think I brought out the kid in him too.
I can’t begin to tell you how many times my grandfather would hold my 4-year-old hand and skip down Princeton’s Main Street. Of course we had errands to do, banking and insurance and other adult-like stuff, but when I was with him, Grandpa always seemed to shirk that stoic, responsible aura that surrounded him.
On the way home from town, Grandpa would occasionally turn the old, green Chevy into City-County Park. I would just squeal. Slowly, he’d make his way to the playground. Turning off the engine, we’d both run toward the swings, where the two of us would swing and swing and swing. Talking, laughing some more — money couldn’t have bought a better time.
On a fall day, Grandpa — who was all business when it came to jobs on the farm — would begin the task of raking leaves from around the house. A host of maple leaves would always find their way under the evergreens and around the foundation of the house. Grandpa would spend a good deal of time raking those leaves into a huge pile in the yard, where he would eventually crumple a page or two of the Bureau County Republican, stick that paper deep into the pile and set it all on fire. But before the match was struck ...
“Are you ready?” he’d say to me, as his eyes twinkled like a little boy who was about to get us all in trouble.
Again, I’d just squeal as the two of us would run hand-in-hand toward the pile and jump into the crispy, crunchy maple leaves. We’d laugh and repeat the process over and over again. It was big fun, and to this day — 50-plus years later — I can still hear our laughter. I can still feel his hand in mine. I can still remember how good life felt.
My grandfather has been gone more than 30 years now, and quite frankly, I can barely remember any of the things my grandparents bought me. But I sure haven’t forgotten the skips down Main Street, the swings at the park, the jumps into the leaves ... or especially the laughter. Whether he knew it or not (I happen to think he did), Grandpa made time to make memories for me. I cherish them more than you know.
Instead of heading to the store this weekend, why not put your money back into your wallet or your purse and head out into the backyard and rake up a big pile of leaves. Make some memories. I guarantee the laughter — now and later — will be well worth the effort.
Tonica News Editor Terri Simon can be reached at tsimon@tonicanews.com.