My grandparents tragically died in a head-on collision with a semi-truck on a South Dakota highway just a few weeks after my fifth birthday. I prayed every day that their souls were in heaven. I missed them both, especially my grandfather, William Lane. Many people think kids can’t remember much at a young age, but I have vivid memories of the times I spent with my grandpa.
He was an ornery old Irishman with a great sense of humor, dressed in striped bib overalls most days, except for those special occasions when he would put on a gray suit and a bow tie. He was a short, stocky man whose hair was thin and waist was thick. I find that I am looking more and more like him every day.
Like many men of his era, Grandpa carried a silver pocket watch on a chain. He would often yell over to me from his recliner and say, “Hey, kid, do you want to see a monkey?” And, like most any other 4-year-old boy, of course I did. So I would crawl up on his lap, and he would pull out that pocket watch and show me the back side of it, which would reflect my face. I fell for that one a lot, and it made us both smile every time.
I also remember watching in amazement as he would pull out his dentures — or “fake teeth,” as he called them. I would ask, “How did you do that?” And, with his thumbs on the back side of his upper teeth, he would mumble, “It’s easy. Just push right here like this.” So I would try, and try, and try. “Can’t you do it? You just have to push a little harder,” he would tell me. Grandma would then laugh at us both as I walked around their home for hours trying to push my teeth out.
My grandpa was a kind man, but he had a vengeful side to him as well. He bought and sold horses for much of his life, and my mother tells a story of a time when one kicked him square in the groin. Grandpa hung that horse to near death over a tree limb, apparently to teach it a lesson. He would go to jail for those actions today, but he seemed to think it was the right thing to do back then.
Grandpa was much kinder to me. He and Grandma lived in an old two-story farmhouse with one bathroom in the basement. When I stayed with them, I would sleep upstairs with Grandpa. With no bathroom, he would leave an empty Folgers can for me on the floor in case I needed to use the facility. I couldn’t hold it very long, and, more often than not, I would have an accident on his mattress. Those were embarrassing moments, even for a 4-year-old. But Grandpa never disciplined, chastised or scolded me; he just had Grandma clean it up. I didn’t say he was perfect. None of us are. But I loved him, and he loved me.
If you are a grandparent, I hope these stories remind you how important you are to your grandchildren. And if you are a grandchild who is fortunate enough to have living grandparents, go see them soon and make some more memories.
Have a terrific Tuesday, and thanks for reading.
Shane Goodman
