Grandpa

Grandpa

I don’t have a lot of fantastic childhood memories. There are no spectacular family adventures, no unique family projects that teach some sort of lesson and no abnormal holidays. We eat family meals together, but most of the time the children and adults live in two different worlds. The kids go to school, play sports and do homework; the adults work. I am lucky, though. When I want a little of both worlds, I can always turn to my grandpa.

I still remember the weekends on the farm. Sitting in the tractor, going to the little hole in the wall cafÐ"© and going to the rodeo this is what I did with grandpa. I’m not just a kid to him; I am his granddaughter, and I am special.

Grandpa is a small quaint man. He stands a little over five foot two inches and weights a little under one hundred and thirty pounds. He moves with purpose and carries himself with respect. Byrel, is a good man, strong respectable man, all that know him would say so. Even if you don’t know him, you could notice his inner strength and self-esteem.

Grandpa isn’t a scholar. In fact, he barely made it through high school. He was born on a gigantic farm and being educated wasn’t that important. He went to work straight out of high school, and for the past fifty years has been working on the farm roping cattle, selling livestock and farming the land.

When I’m with I can be a child yet see through grown-up eye. "You see that tree, squirt", he used to say. "That tree was here before the houses. God put that tree there; man put those houses there. Which one is more beautiful?" if I climbed a tree he wouldn’t say "get down". He said" climb it right so you don’t fall and get hurt."

...