Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Article #278 Remembering Grandpa

Before I wrote my own life story, I started to collect stories about my grandparents so their memory wouldn’t be lost to my grandchildren who’ve never met them. The only grandparents they remember are me, and my mother who lived to be 89. Share your grandparents' stories.  I found this old photo I didn't remember having of my grandpa Joseph Harold Vernon (r) and his younger brother Malin.
My grandpa was a great storyteller about the fish or deer that got away or the train derailment that he had to take care of with his job on the railroad. He seemed to always have time for me. My grandpa wore bib overalls with lots of pockets to hold special things like his railroad watch that gave precise time, a trusty pocket knife, a white clean handkerchief––no tissues in those days and some pocket change if needed. Every time we left after a visiting him years later, he always gave me a real silver dollar. I can still picture him in his bib overalls with his suntanned face and large moustache to protect his face from the sun everyday as he labored outside to keep the trains going from LA to SLC. He was a quiet man, full of integrity, humor and love.
A Senior Sampler reader, Donna Shouse of Hurricane, Utah, tells us about her grandparents: When we pull into the gravel driveway, I am in awe of the BIG white house standing so strong and tall on the grassy lot of Rock Hill Drive. There’s Grandma in one of her sweet cotton housedresses with a gingham apron around her waist. Standing next to her is Grandpa decked out in his overalls from his years of working on the railroad system. After the hugs and kisses of welcome, the first thing we must do is explore their lovely kitchen garden at the back of the house. 
I notice that Grandpa has set out the worn little red scooter for us to play with during our visit. Grandpa is a sweet, quiet and gentle soul.  I love climbing into his lap where he bounces me on his knee.  He always has a stick of gum in his shirt pocket to offer me that tastes of cinnamon. In the cool basement he plays solitaire.  Many times we giggle and nod to each other when we catch him cheating. I smell a whiff of the scent of fresh green onion, and know we will soon be enjoying a bowl of wilted lettuce from their garden. Fun memories. NEXT TIME: Aunts, Uncles, and other Favorite Relatives. 

Tell us in a comment about an experience with your grandpa... 

1 comment:

Shel Harrington said...

Those do sound like wonderful memories, Lin! Both sets of my grandparents lived in another state. My father's parents were immigrants from Brazil and Portugal and they spoke very little English, so communication was difficult on our annual visit. But I always looked forward to the visit and I never understood why friends who had local grandparents complained about having to visit them!