My Grandpa is the second from the right. Very handsome!
Family stories always contribute to how we feel about those we love, it gives us a sense of appreciation and love for what they went through in their life and how our life seems better for it. My dad, thank goodness, has always been a storyteller. He has not only told the stories, but he has written them down. Here are a couple of stories my dad wrote about his dad, my grandpa. I never knew him. He died when I was just five years old, he lived far away, so I never had the opportunity to get to meet him. I feel like I know him though, because of my dad. Here are a few of my dad’s stories:
“I had some good memories of Dad and of some of the sacrifices he made for his family. I can remember as a little boy in the late 1930s the effects of the depression were still very much apparent. They were hard times and Dad just made enough money each day to take care of the expenses of the day. There was never any extra and so each night after work Dad brought home the groceries that Mom made supper with. In the wintertime it was especially hard. Dad would have to walk home from work at the cleaning and tailor shop where he worked and stop on the way to get a few groceries. We lived about a mile west of town along highway 10. I remember as a child along with some of my brothers and sisters scratching the ice off the inside of the window so we could see out and then pressing our noses against the window to see if we could see Dad coming down the highway. Minnesota winters were very cold and when Dad walked in the door he was quite a sight. The cold wind would cause his eyes to water, but because he had groceries in his hands he couldn’t wipe the tears from his eyes and so they would form icicles on his eyelashes. His nose too would run and icicles would also hang from his nose. Mom would have her wood stove all fired up to cook one of her wonderful suppers out of the simplest fair. They were difficult times but I have a lot of fond memories from them.
Dad had given me a little hatchet so I could chop wood for the wood burning stoves while he used his big axe. One day my hatchet came up missing. A few weeks later I was at my friends home (Jimmy Hanks) playing, and I saw my hatchet. I picked it up and was going to take it home and we scuffled over it so I pushed him down and headed for home. He was crying and yelled after me saying “I stoled if from you and you can’t steal it back.” I can remember that as if it were yesterday. We were only about four to five years old at the time. I have often wondered what ever became of him.
I can also remember when a big rooster wandering around the yard decided that I must have been a threat to him and came after me and knocked me down and was on top of me ready to peck my eyes out. Just before he could, Dad came to my rescue and grabbed that big old rooster and threw him straight up into the air. As a little boy I remember laying on the ground crying and scared one minute and the next minute seeing that big old rooster flying through the air. Dad saved me.”
Thank you, Daddy, for recording stories for us to enjoy!
Happy Family History Friday! Love, Joy
It’s probably safe to say that Grandma Ruth lost her marbles.
