A little over nine years ago, I added a new hat to wear. In addition to husband, father, pastor (with all of its accompanying hats!), I became a “papa.” A quite different hat from that of “father,” to be sure! But it did get me to reflect on my own grandparents.
And it’s a bit messy, to be honest. Frankly, I didn’t realize how messy until adulthood, but it was there all along.
I had three sets of grandparents and didn’t know it was abnormal (note: it was then…not so much anymore, I’m afraid!).
I never met my dad’s father. Grandpa Bice was a chiropractor whose first practice was in Cleveland, then in Somerset, Kentucky. He was also a bit of a scoundrel. He got my grandmother pregnant, but wouldn’t marry her. He did marry another woman—my Grandma Georgie. But was unfaithful to her, too. Ironically, he died of an enlarged heart (as I recall) before I was born, and on his death bed, he wanted his wife to call his lover to come see him before he bid this world adieu.
As I said, quite a scoundrel. I’m grateful he didn’t have any direct influence on me!
Grandma Georgie, on the other hand, was a sweetheart. Technically my step-grandma, we visited her, or she us, every year. Most of the time, we made the trip to Kentucky, enjoyed her southern accent and especially her cooking! The black panther figurine perched on a bookshelf, with its piercing eyes staring at me no matter where I was in the room, mesmerized me on every visit.
On one or two of those trips, I got to meet her father—so he’d be my step-great-grandfather—and he had a hobby of crafting things from wood. When Grandma Georgie died (at age 103!), I inherited one of the canes he made, as well as a large handmade wooden box of his tools.
My dad’s mom—Grandma Ketchum—was so named because she eventually married a widower, Lawrence Ketchum. Grandpa Lawrence, we called him, died when I was quite young. My only memory of him was a hospital visit before he died. I was perhaps 3 years old.
I can’t recall what malady took his life, but it must have been considered contagious. Either that or it was decided that having a couple of little kids in his hospital room would be too stressful. Regardless, to this day—62 years later—I remember looking down through the hospital window into his room. I can faintly see him looking in my direction, a weak smile on his face.
And that’s it. He died a few days later.
Fascinating the images that get burned in the brain!
Grandma Ketchum was much more of a fixture in my youth, so there are many more images that surface. Indulge me as I share but two—a good one, and a not-so-good one!
I was perhaps, 5 (?) and got to stay with GK for a couple of nights at her house in Avon Lake, Ohio. It must’ve been around Easter; I recall sitting at the kitchen table eating lunch (probably a “gooseliver” sandwich—always had ‘em at her house! In fact, she ended up with the nickname “Granny Gooseliver”!) Anyway, the song “Easter Parade” came on the radio.
What was really cool about that visit, I got to sleep in my uncle’s boyhood room. Of course, he had been grown and gone from the home for years by then, but the room was still decorated with model airplanes hanging from the ceiling. I drifted off to sleep looking at those planes.
A few years later, GK moved to a senior citizen high-rise apartment in Lorain, Ohio. The building was across from Lake Erie, near where the Black River flows into the lake. The living room window of her 10th-floor apartment offered plenty of interesting things to hold the attention of an 8-year-old boy.
My older brother and I stayed with her for a few days while our parents went to a conference. For my birthday, I had just received a baseball bat, ball, and glove. So GK took us to a nearby park to play some hit and catch.
My brother, though, kept hitting the ball over my head, and I had to keep making trips to the outfield to retrieve it. I got tired of that pretty quickly and told him to hit the ball to me. Again, he pelted a fly ball way over my head, and it rolled into the outfield.
I refused to go get it.
GK hollered at me to go get it.
I hollered back, “No!”
“Yes!”
“No! He hit it out there. HE can go get it!”
“YOU go get it!”
“NO!!!”
And with that, GK—who was a bit overweight…well, quite a bit, actually—hustled as best she could to the infield, yanked me by the arm, and dragged me kicking and screaming to her car. Once I was in the car, she grabbed her chest and tried to catch her breath. Scared me, of course. Mom later told me there wasn’t really anything wrong with her; GK was a bit of a drama queen! Nevertheless, I felt awful about the whole thing for years.
But GK never stopped loving me. I had the privilege of conducting her funeral.
On Mom’s side, Grandpa Pete and Grandma Elsie O’Hare came in and out of my life at least a couple of times a year. For most of my growing-up years, they lived in Marion, Ohio, but moved to Melbourne, Florida, when I was in 8th grade. Incidentally, when I was contemplating going to Florida Institute of Technology, I thought I might be able to live with them.
Grandpa loved his pipe or cigars, the Cincinnati Reds, and Pontiacs. He worked in factories, then for a cement company. I think of him as a quiet man, who never really said much; consequently, I can’t say I knew much else about him.
He had his ways
of showing
affection,
though.
On one visit to their mobile home park in Melbourne, he took me across the street to a small factory. Can’t recall all that was made there, but one item was aluminum sundials with a replica of the plaque left on the moon by the first lunar mission in 1969. Grandpa knew the proprietor quite well, so he got one of them, gave it to me, and told me not to tell anyone. It was just for me.
The sundial sits on one of my bookshelves to this day, 50+ years later.
When I think of Grandma Elsie, I see smiles and laughter.
I spent more time visiting them than any other grandparent. I stayed a week once in late elementary school, went with grandma to her job at a little corner grocery store. My brother and I stayed another week one summer, both of us got a terrible sunburn. Grandma made us take vinegar baths.
When they lived in Florida, our entire family of six invaded their single-wide mobile home for almost a month! How she kept smiling through all that, I don’t know!
By the time our children were born, G & G had moved to North Carolina to live with my uncle. We visited them in Hickory shortly after our son was born.
Eventually, they made their way back to Marion where they closed out their years on earth.
Grandpa died first in 1990. I had the privilege of conducting Grandma’s funeral in 2004.
Valuable Lessons
None of my grandparents sat me down, opened a book, and proceeded to teach me important life lessons.
But all taught me something valuable.
From Grandpa Bice, I learned the pain and heartache—the long-term harmful effects—of sinful selfishness.
Grandpa Lawrence taught me the virtue of selfless sacrifice, providing a home and security for a woman and another man’s child when he didn’t have to.
Grandpa Pete demonstrated quiet strength and contentment with his lot in life as a laborer in the concrete trade. Never heard him complain, as I recall (although grandma probably did!).
Grandma Georgie exhibited resilience and grace through unimaginable betrayal, humiliation, and heartbreak. After her unfaithful husband died, she went to work as a nurse in the Somerset hospital, a job she held into her 70s.
Grandma Ketchum—a complex, conflicted soul—could at times be caustic…but other times sweet and kind. She warns me not to allow past wrongs to make me bitter and cynical and harsh.
Grandma Elsie reflected a joyful, contented life—even though for many years after Grandpa retired, she continued working at the market in Marion, at Belks in Melbourne.
Of course, all of this makes me wonder what lessons my now-five grandchildren will learn from me. Not so much what I say from the pulpit, but what I say with my life!
One of the interesting things about the Bible, you won’t read of any perfect people in it, save one—Jesus. And so many of the well-known characters were people with flaws—some pretty serious ones, at that!
Start with the first grandparents, Adam and Eve! But beyond that…. Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Moses, David, Solomon, etc., etc.
Some read of their flaws—their sins—and conclude, “I’m not going to listen to what they have to say!” Others wisely realize, “Wow! They can teach me some pretty important stuff—warts notwithstanding!”
Read wisely, for even as Paul wrote,
Now these things happened to them as an example, but they were written down for our instruction….
1 Corinthians 10:11
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