Some of my first memories were taking the train with my mother to Louisville, Kentucky to visit my Grandma and Grandpa. We had to take the train or else my Grandfather, R.D. Wilson to be exact, would be “put out.” That meant that he would be harder than usual to get along with. When I was that young he was “almost retired” from the Louisville and Nashville Train Lines and was an Engineer. Although I did not know who W.C. Fields was at that time, he did have a remarkable resemblance to the man. When we would arrive he would put on a show for us by ushering the “Redcaps” to get our luggage and asking me how my “jennyflopper” was. I didn’t know what a jennyflopper was, but that usually got my mom “put-off and she would be talking to my Grandma, Lula Wilson rapidly while pointing her finger at Grandpa. You see, R.D. was not my “blood” Grandfather, my real Grandfather had been the Fire Chief of Louisville, but died while helping build dikes on the Ohio River when Paducah, Kentucky flooded. I think my mother took some solace in that.

R.D. was also a practical joker. The first night there when I tried to put on my pajamas, I fell flat in the floor when my leg didn’t go through. On closer inspection I found that “someone” had tied on of the legs shut. Lula said, “R.D. I want you to stop meddlin’ with Dale.” I remember his smile and the flash of blue light in his eyes when he said, “I suppose I could.” That did not sound hopeful to me but none-the-less I liked him. In fact I even learned a few things from him.

One particular event stands out in my memory. He had come “up” north for a visit and I was in the second grade. I had proudly brought home my report card for everyone to see. I really didn’t have a choice because you’re Mom or Dad had to sign to make sure it had been reviewed by you’re parents. I took the card back to school the next day but was surprised when I got home to see my mom standing waiting for me with a fairly distasteful expression on her face. “What’s wrong Mom?” I knew I had not done anything wrong recently so I thought it best to get it over with.

“We have to go back to school right now.”

“Why?”

“Something is wrong with your report card.” Now what could that be? I had not changed any grades as some kids did and I pretty much knew my grades were O.K., but none-the less off we went. We got there after almost everyone had left and there, in a large white envelope was my Mothers name boldly written across it. She picked it up quickly and after a furtive glance over her shoulder we were out the door and on our way home. I sure felt uneasy about this whole thing. With my luck I was going to get in trouble for something I didn’t even know about. When we got home she sat me down at the dinner table and opened the envelope. Slowly, ever so slowly she pulled out my Report Card and I saw her brow knit together as she examined it. That’s when her neck spun towards the living room and she yelled, “Lula!” My mother always called her Mother, Mom, unless she had and R.D. problem.

My Grandmother showed rounded the corner like her apron was on fire and said “What on earth?”

“Take a look at Dale’s Report Card….”

“What?”

“Just read the top there!”

“Oh my God. R.D.!” We heard him make his “old man sound” when he got out of the chair in the living room. He arrived still smoking his pipe and there seemed to be a halo about 3 inches over his head. “What’s all the fuss about?”

“Somebody wrote “S**T on the top of Dale’s Report card!”

“Dale did it, I saw him practicing outside with chalk on the sidewalk.” I couldn’t believe it. That was like a huge lie..about a little kid, ME!

“I did not!”

“He did!”

My Grandmother looked him straight in the eye and said, “R.D. Enough is enough. Since you is the only one I know that makes his “S” backwards I think you have some explaining to do.”

“Well it’s not my fault I only got a First Grade education!”

“I am not talking about that!!!! Why on my mother’s grave would you do such a thing?” Yup. That’s how it was with my Grandfather, or not my “blood” Grandfather as my mom would quickly point out. The discussion lasted for some time and for some reason it felt like all was right with the world. A true family moment.

All these little things always got straightened out eventually, but I kept an eye on him. He was also a hunter and every year he would take the same hunting trip out to Wyoming. He never killed anything or anyone I am aware of but he sure loved going. That’s when I learned my greatest lesson from him, and it is worth sharing. The year in questions date is lost in my memory but not the circumstance. He had recently been diagnosed with prostate cancer and my Grandmother had written saying he was scared, but the doctors said he could go on his hunting trip before they could schedule surgery anyway. So while we all worried, he went on his trip, returned and had the surgery. Shortly thereafter they came north for a visit.

After a tearful reunion at the South Bend Train Station we went home. Apparently they had caught it in time and he was to live many more years. A few nights later he showed me how to build a real “western” outside fire so we could roast marshmallows. That’s when he had his gift of wisdom and he gave it to me there, on a cold October night in Northern Indiana with a harvest Moon so full you felt you could grab it out of the sky.

“You know Dale this cancer thing really had me scared.” I was surprised to hear my Grandfather say that. He seemed serious and I kept waiting for him to dump a bucket of ice water on my head and start laughing as my mom yelled for “LULA!” Instead he stirred the embers of the fire and small orange-red sparks seemed to climb into the sky and be extinguished by the light of that giant moon.

“When I was on my hunting trip I kept thinking about that tumor I was lugging around with me. Every year when I am out there, I climb up this small mountain and sit at the top and think. But this year I was so worried that I talked to God.”

“What did you say Grandpa?”

“I said Lord, if next year I am so sick I cannot climb up here, I would rather you just took me while I was on the operating table.”

I was suddenly sad and wanted to say something of comfort. I just didn’t know what. Grandpa came to my rescue and what he said sure made a lot of sense. Even though the rest of our years were only punctuated by brief, all too brief visits, I never forgot him or what he said.

“Then I thought a moment and I said, WAIT a MINUTE LORD, MAYBE I CAN MAKE IT HALF WAY UP THE MOUNTAIN…….” I guess he always had it, that quality for being happy with what you have, but I have never forgotten it. Many years later when he died he was given a 21 gun salute for being the next to last survivor of the Spanish-American War. I never knew about that either, but maybe he was afraid to try to spell “Spanish?”