"A Tribute to Grandpa" or "Here, Mom. It's Finally Done"

About my Grandpa

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I have been asked to write a tribute about my Grandpa.

I have been putting it off, partly because I am by nature a procrastinator and partly because I couldn’t decide what to say.

You see, my Grandpa was such an amazing man that there is simply too much to talk about.

I have so many memories of him.

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I was blessed to be able to grow up only a few minutes from him, so I got to see him a lot.

Here are some of my simple memories:

Grandpa hammering a nail through a coconut so I could drink the milk.

Grandpa putting my bike together that I got for my birthday.

Grandpa pushing wheel barrows of dirt out of our basement so we could have more room.

Grandpa coming over for dinner on Sundays.

Grandma feeding Grandpa when both of his arms were in casts from breaking them while playing street football with neighborhood kids.

Talking with Grandpa about serving in World War 2.

Grandpa telling stories in Uncle Randy’s backyard about his favorite horse.

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I could go on and on, but let me share a few more specific memories.

When I was little Grandpa would greet me, and very often my best friend Holly by saying “Hello Fred”.

She or I would answer “That’s not my name!”

He would respond “Oh, I’m sorry George”.

We would say “No, I’m not George”.

This game would go on for a few minutes until he finally admitted to knowing who we were and giving us a hug.

10 or so years later, after I had moved out, my good friend Holly went to see my mom. She was there visiting when Grandpa showed up.

She was excited to see him, and he was excited to see her as they had not seen each other in a few years.

He said to her “Little Holly? Is that you?”

Holly’s face fell and she answered him, “No Mark, it’s me, Fred!”

They both laughed as they hugged each other.

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Another more recent memory happened only a few years ago.

I was in Provo visiting and my Mother had not been able to get a hold of Grandpa. She asked

me to drive to his house to see why he wasn’t answering his phone.

I found him in his garage building shelves. He hadn’t heard his phone ringing from where he was.

I stayed and visited with him for a while.

While I was there I noticed that his couches, which I knew he had had for a while, still had the tags on them.

I loved that he was too busy even at the age of 89 to sit down long enough to cut the tags off his couches.

I said to him, “Grandpa, didn’t anyone ever tell you that 89 year old men are supposed to sit around and watch tv?”

He answered “No, and if they did, I’d tell them to go to hell!”

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I admire Grandpa so much. Enough that I even named my son Mark after him.

He was an amazing man, just as my Grandma was an amazing woman.

There was nothing that Grandpa couldn’t do, from flying an airplane or building a house from the

ground up, to soothing a sad child.

I love Grandpa, and I consider myself blessed to be his grand daughter.