"Old Scout" is what he called me

My Grandfather was my father and my best pal when I was growing up. From him I learned what loyalty, respect and genuine love really is. What I am today, he taught me by living the example. He used to come to the house and take me fishing ... carp fishing! He didn't care about frying and eating fish, just catching them and then throwing them back, but mostly just taking me fishing. In the early days, my Grandfather worked in the mill for 15 cents an hour, lived in one of the two room mill houses and raised three daughters alone. Much later, he was a prison guard for the State.

His job was to take convicts out on the road and put them to work. That was back in the days when they had to wear black and white striped suits and a ball and chain. One day, one of the prisoners somehow got loose and started to run. My Grandfather raised his double-barreled twelve-gauge shotgun and cocked both hammers. He drew down on the prisoner but he couldn't pull the trigger. He called it in instead. I know. I saw it happen because it was on the dirt road in front of my "house."

In his later years he was a clerk at an old, turn of the century hotel downtown by the train station. On the clerk's desk there were still unused call sheets with the date 1905. The phones were still black, and stood straight up with the speaker on top and the oblong receiver hanging on the side from a hook. On the upper floors where the rooms were the lone bathroom was at the end of the hall. There we no elevators, you used the stairs.

I used to stay with him on the weekends. The ceilings of the old rooms were so high it seemed they never ended. The boards in the ceiling and walls looked to be about a quarter inch wide each, and gray. You could smell the mustiness. A lone light bulb hung from the ceiling with a chain. There was a washbowl and water pitcher on the nightstand. On that nightstand were his straight razor, a mug with soap and shaving brush and a razor strap. He always made sure that I had plenty of long johns, with the trap door! Sleeping in that old iron bed and feather mattress under a ton of blankets with my Grandpaw I felt like a King!

One Christmas during the downtown Christmas parade he took me up to the first floor window where I had a bird's eye view! I was excited! And in the parade I got to see Matt Dillon, Miss Kitty and Doc live in the flesh! How much more excitement could a boy of seven stand? On Saturday night he would take me across the street to the old State Theater for a double feature of Lash La Rue and Roy Rogers, a Three Stooges short, three cartoons and a Buster Crabbe serial, and all the popcorn I could eat.

He never called me by my name. He always called me "Old Scout." He always brought a big bucket of ice cream to the "house" on the fourth of July and a big carp for the cats, and always saw to it that we had something to eat when my father decided to leave us...again. He would show me card tricks but would never let me touch a deck of cards, not even for crazy eights!

On my sixteenth birthday he gave me a single barrel twelve gauge shotgun, much to the objection of my mother. When Grandpaw decided to do something, it stuck! Even my mother couldn't change it! I loved the smell of his old suit and the look of his infectious smile. And he always held my hand when we walked somewhere. I wanted to know the smell of my father and be close to him but he wouldn't let me, so for a boy of seven holding the hand of my grandfather as we walked meant the world to me.

He is the one that taught me what genuine love is and how it makes you feel inside. He is the reason I know the difference to this day. One Sunday he came out to the "house" and stayed a while. It was his birthday and I had no gift for him. When he started to leave he said his goodbyes and walked to his 39 black Chevy. He used to let me ride on the running boards in the driveway. I learned to drive in that old thing too. My heart was bursting because I had no gift for him. I was almost to tears I felt so bad. And then I remembered ... I went running to the car shouting, "Grandpaw, don't leave yet!"

I ran up to the car window out of breath and handed him a penny that I had found in the pocket of my overalls. It was all I had. I said, "Happy birthday, Grandpaw, I love you." It was at that point he turned his head and fought back some tears but never shed one. I didn't understand it at the time, I thought the penny wasn't enough, but he assured me it was plenty. It wasn't until I grew a little older that I understood what happened that day and realized that I gave back to him what he so lovingly and unselfishly gave to me for so long.

When he died sixteen years later I went to the hospital to be with him. They told me he was already gone by medical standards and that it was only a matter of time before his body stopped functioning. I walked over to his bed and raised the oxygen tent and leaned under it to be closer to him. I whispered, "Grandpaw..." That was all I got to say. I felt his hand gently pat mine twice and somehow he uttered the words, "I'll see you again when I can talk to you." And then he died. He waited for me, even then.

As I walked out of the hospital that warm summer night the fluorescent lights of the parking lot glared harshly at four in the morning. I felt so empty inside and experienced a deep sense of loss that I had never known before. I wanted to cry but couldn't. I don't know why. Maybe it was because he wouldn't have wanted me to. I'm not sure. And then in an unexpected flashback I remembered the penny. It was then I understood. From my Grandfather I learned what unconditional love is and more important, how it is accomplished and how it is unselfishly given whether it's among family members or to your spouse. Among his belongings, I found the penny. What greater gift could he have possibly left me?