Visiting relatives can be a nightmare. The trip can be one frustration followed by another. The kids are bored, or fighting, in the car. You want to fall asleep after driving 50 miles down the same tree-lined highway. The wife, or husband, or whatever, nags about something because they are just as bored. Then you get there and you can't wait to spend even more time with each other. By the time you're done with your visit, the relatives remember why they live so far away, the family remembers why they don't spend more time together, and you can't wait to go back to work because it feels like a vacation.
I'm so glad I'm single.
This past weekend, I took a trip to visit my grandparents. While I didn't get to leave as early as I wanted to, because of extreme cold temperatures from the Great White North. Being just me in the truck, the drive was quite pleasant. It definitely was a welcome detour from the monotony of my bedroom/office. By the time I arrived, the air warmed up to a balmy negative one degree. Not that anyone was paying attention the entire time they were driving (or wondering when the last time he experienced above-zero weather).
Aside from the cold, the trip was relaxing. There was the usual nagging from my grandfather about being a Republican in a Democratic family (a very Democratic family, I might add) and we had a lively discussion about why the current economic problems aren't a repeat of the Great Depression. I will say, however, that there is some difficulty trying to discuss the Great Depression with your family when they've actually lived through it and you only studied about it. But it wasn't what I did or what we discussed that set this weekend apart from other trips to their home. It was what I learned.
My grandfather isn't in the best of health. He's had problems with his back and hip for several months and you can tell it bothers him. Not the pain, mind you. He would never admit to being in pain. But it is the limitations his predicament has placed in him. His work ethic is something to admire. For as long as I can remember, he would be up before the sun rose and wouldn't rest until the sun dipped into the west or the heat prevented him from continuing on. When it go to hot to farm, he'd work around the house. Only on the weekends, or when there was a big family gathering, did I see him enjoy the outdoors. And did he ever enjoy it.
This is the man who taught me fishing. When I was young, he took my brother and I out into the middle of the lake not far from Ladysmith. He'd show us how to cast with our beginner poles, teach us the fine art of reeling a line in to lure the fish onto the hook, and what to do on the rare occasion that we caught something. I remember one of the earlier times we went fishing together, I tried to cast a line as far as I could. I took the pole as far back behind me as possible and swung it around to the front, remembering to let go of the line in the process. Unfortunately, I didn't really swing the pole above me but in a more sidearm movement. This provided two quick lessons in fishing. One, the quick jerk and late release of the line does not work when you are trying to cast a long way out. Two, sidearming should stay in baseball, because you never know when you'll catch your grandfathers hat on the line and send it into the water. No matter how many mistakes I made, my grandfather remained very patient with me. He never told me to stop, instead he would show me how to do it differently. As young as we were, it took many tries before we could get it right.
When I was older, my grandfather made the leap from a great man to a superman. My brother and I had the good fortune to spend a few weeks with our grandparents one summer. Because of the long visit, my grandfather thought it was time for us to visit their cabin, and to go fishing. But this time we didn't learn our lesson from fishing. The cabin was right next to the lake, with its own little pier and boat launch. We didn't need to drive around to somewhere to get in the water, and that spelled trouble for my brother and I.
After we settled into our temporary home for the weekend, our grandparents let us take a canoe into the water for a short while. Excited as we were, I don't think once my brother or I took into account how little we knew about rowing a boat. It seems easy enough, though, so we just hit the water without pause. A few minutes into our adventure, we quickly realized the water current was pushing our little boat faster than our little arms could row. Despite our best efforts, we kept drifting farther and farther away from the cabin. When there seemed little else that we could do, out from the shore, well away from the cabin, was our grandfather. He told at us about what to do, row the canoe as close to the shore as we could. He calmly bellowed out for us to not try for the straight line in, but to just eventually get to shore in any way possible. After what seemed like forever, but probably was only 15-20 minutes, we were close enough to the shore for him to climb aboard and row us back to the cabin. Not once did he scold us. Not once did we feel ashamed. He just told us that it is a lesson all boaters will eventually learn.
These stories built up my grandfather as the man who could do no wrong. Then there were the tales of how his heart was bigger than his chest. As I mentioned earlier, my grandfather lived through the depression. He is from the old school mind about work; women stayed at home and men went out to provide for the household. When my grandmother was stricken ill for several months, however, it was his heart that proved there were exceptions to everything.
While I was in high school, I received word that my grandmother wasn't feeling well. She had hurt her back somehow, but the pain was not going away with bed rest. Through time, and several doctors, the pain was discovered to be a symptom of a debilitating disease, forcing her into a life of immobility. Her days of cleaning the house, attending women's group meetings and planning church events appeared over, replaced with the routine of bed rest and watching the occasional television program. No longer would my grandfather receive his home-cooked meal when he came home from the farm, nor would there be an immaculate home when he returned from his day's labor. But that is when the man's compassion for his wife took hold of his ways.
I remember hearing from Dad about his taking over the maintenance of the home. He became the provider of the household and the keeper of the home. His days were split between the farm and the housework, cleaning what needed to be cleaned and cooking what meals he could prepare. For the modern man, this doesn't seem like much. But for my grandfather's generation, this was nothing short of love in its purest form. My grandmother's condition eventually improved, and my grandfather returned to his old lifestyle, but I can never erase the thought of him taking the steps necessary to maintain the home and take care of his wife throughout that whole ordeal. I'm still amazed at what transpired over that year, especially since neither of them will talk about it. Only occasionally do you hear my grandmother mention she was ill.
This weekend proved to be more than just a visit to see the family. It was a realization that even the mightiest of men slow down as time moves on. His walk was a little slower, with pain shooting through his hip at every step, and his restlessness grew a little higher, with the back keeping him from his everyday chores. But this man, the one I grew up to idolize, was still the man I visited this weekend. Despite his ailments, his humor and his character are still alive, more vibrant than before. He never backs down from a fight, never lets a good comment remain silent. Each opinion I may have is countered with a jab about why I must be wrong because I am a Republican. This weekend showed me that while he may have lost a step, he still has his mind and he is still the same man I loved when I was growing up.
He may not be the immortal god I built him up to be when I was younger. He isn't even the perfect person we all want to be someday. But he is exactly what I'd like to be when I grow up; compassionate, humorous, strong and hard working. There is nothing that would make me happier than knowing that I lived up to my family name by emulating the man he came to be.
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