GRANDPA

1997-08-04 Montreal

My grandpa was a farmer. I got a bit of a skewed view because for as long as I could remember, he and grandma lived in town. But for many of his farming years he lived out on the "old homestead" as my mom and grandma called it. My mom was born out on the farm, in "the old house". It had been abandoned for a number of years and vandals had hastened its decay. To my mother it must have been a tragic sight, to see her home destroyed over the years, without being able to do anything about it. But for me, it was just another site for adventure. The farm was a place of safety and warmth, because it reminded me of my grandpa, and my grandpa was safe and warm.

My grandpa had the best hands. To this day I judge a man by his hands, but never have met up to my grandpa's hands. They were the widest, strongest fingers you ever saw. Almost always they were filthy - stained with oil from the never ending repair of farm equipment or just plain old dirt from the day's work. But they were gentle. They could hold an injured bird with the utmost care. They could brush away a tear, hold you oh so tight, or guide in a polka around the living room floor.

Editor's note:
October 10, 2018
My mom reminded me that she was born in the Regina General Hospital, but that Grandpa had indeed been born in the old house.