Commentary and Philosophy Non-Fiction posted May 21, 2022 |
On the topic of wise counsel.
Dear Grandbabies
by Wayne Fowler
Dear Grandchildren,
Here are few words that I would like to pass on to you. They are too different from what my grandparents passed on to me: nothing. Not one blessed word of wisdom, counsel, advice or admonition. There was not one single gem of insight into how to handle life, or relationships, or money, or … nothing.
Grandpa Mitchel died 17 years before I was born. Step grandpa Leroy, well, Gramma Vera divorced him. And for Gramma Vera, she loved us, but the only thing that really qualified as advice was that we couldn’t bring our dog to the farm anymore. (He chased chickens.) Not really what we’re looking for here.
Grandpa Carlee only had one eye and he served time in prison for cattle rustling. Well, he only stole one calf, actually. He and two friends stole it, put in the back seat of his car, and sold it for enough whiskey to get drunk. They both turned state’s evidence and got sent to the big house. Grandma Bessie divorced him.
Grandma Bessie now, she had some words. Only they weren’t for me, they were for my cousins that she had to raise because their mother wouldn’t. Those words were usually on the harsh side.
Bessie married O. J. He was cool. Whenever we got together he liked to swap pocketbooks with me. All the money in my pocket for the rubbery-plastic-vinyl thing that he kept change in. He’d show it to me nearly full. Of course when we made the exchange it would be practically empty.
Of my six grandparents, I don’t recall hearing the words “I love you” uttered a single time. But times were different back then. Kids were to be seen, not heard. Kids didn’t get fed first because they might fuss. Kids were what parents had, like weeds in a garden. I’m not even real sure they knew our names. But that’s all okay. I have nothing to complain about. We just weren’t raised to be the very dead center of the universe.
My parents, only two of them. One third as many voices from which to hear sage advice, but a lot more contact, more opportunities to listen. Here again, kids were to be seen, not heard.
Dad often worked two jobs. Or one job and a lot of overtime. Then he left when I was twelve. By the time we got back together three years later, I was pretty much raised and on my own. I had school, a job, and I left for military service at seventeen-and-a-half. And I didn’t care a whole lot for anything he would have had to say anyway.
That leaves my mother. Dear saintly Mom. She busted her butt keeping the five of us fed, healthy, clean, clothed, and in church. And I don’t mean send us off to Sunday School. Mom didn’t so much tell us how to live, but showed us. She was faithfulness personified. I don’t care how busy she was, she had time to read her Bible. She wore ‘em out. I’d look at hers and she’d have stuff underlined and notes in the margins all over it. I’d hear her pray, and my soul knew she was praying for me, especially since I knew that I was the one that needed it most.
As far as words from her to me, there are some notable words that I’ll never forget: Don’t you stomp your foot at me!
Because I said so!
Elbows off the table.
Wait your turn.
Just simmer down and hold your horses.
Try at least one bite.
Clean your plate.
You took it – you eat it.
Don't dawdle.
Don't ever be late.
Make your bed.
Pick up your clothes.
Homework always comes before play.
Wash your face and don’t forget behind your ears.
Say please and thank you.
If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.
You’d better change your ways, young man! (This was the most frequent.)
The most significant of all, though, were the words she said near the end of her life. Looking me right in the face, she said, “I want you in heaven with me.” I knew that they were not idle words.
Not long after that, dementia hit her hard in the form of primary progressive aphasia. A couple years later she was gone. But I heard her voice once more.
Here I need to tell you children something not very nice about your great grandmother – she was a terrible singer. When she sang beside you in church, you wanted to stop singing. It was hard to listen to. The more so, because she loved to worship in song. It was enough to make you shiver.
The voice I heard was in a dream – and yes, I believe some dreams are messages. Others are because you know you wrote a bad report for school. I saw your great grandmother on a high podium. She was leading throngs of people, like enough to fill dozens of stadiums. She was leading them in song with both her voice, and with a baton that she used masterfully.
That was my mother who wants me in heaven with her.
And that’s where I want all four of you with me. That’s all the counsel I have because that’s all that matters in the end.
Notes to the Grandchildren contest entry
Dear Grandchildren,
Here are few words that I would like to pass on to you. They are too different from what my grandparents passed on to me: nothing. Not one blessed word of wisdom, counsel, advice or admonition. There was not one single gem of insight into how to handle life, or relationships, or money, or … nothing.
Grandpa Mitchel died 17 years before I was born. Step grandpa Leroy, well, Gramma Vera divorced him. And for Gramma Vera, she loved us, but the only thing that really qualified as advice was that we couldn’t bring our dog to the farm anymore. (He chased chickens.) Not really what we’re looking for here.
Grandpa Carlee only had one eye and he served time in prison for cattle rustling. Well, he only stole one calf, actually. He and two friends stole it, put in the back seat of his car, and sold it for enough whiskey to get drunk. They both turned state’s evidence and got sent to the big house. Grandma Bessie divorced him.
Grandma Bessie now, she had some words. Only they weren’t for me, they were for my cousins that she had to raise because their mother wouldn’t. Those words were usually on the harsh side.
Bessie married O. J. He was cool. Whenever we got together he liked to swap pocketbooks with me. All the money in my pocket for the rubbery-plastic-vinyl thing that he kept change in. He’d show it to me nearly full. Of course when we made the exchange it would be practically empty.
Of my six grandparents, I don’t recall hearing the words “I love you” uttered a single time. But times were different back then. Kids were to be seen, not heard. Kids didn’t get fed first because they might fuss. Kids were what parents had, like weeds in a garden. I’m not even real sure they knew our names. But that’s all okay. I have nothing to complain about. We just weren’t raised to be the very dead center of the universe.
My parents, only two of them. One third as many voices from which to hear sage advice, but a lot more contact, more opportunities to listen. Here again, kids were to be seen, not heard.
Dad often worked two jobs. Or one job and a lot of overtime. Then he left when I was twelve. By the time we got back together three years later, I was pretty much raised and on my own. I had school, a job, and I left for military service at seventeen-and-a-half. And I didn’t care a whole lot for anything he would have had to say anyway.
That leaves my mother. Dear saintly Mom. She busted her butt keeping the five of us fed, healthy, clean, clothed, and in church. And I don’t mean send us off to Sunday School. Mom didn’t so much tell us how to live, but showed us. She was faithfulness personified. I don’t care how busy she was, she had time to read her Bible. She wore ‘em out. I’d look at hers and she’d have stuff underlined and notes in the margins all over it. I’d hear her pray, and my soul knew she was praying for me, especially since I knew that I was the one that needed it most.
As far as words from her to me, there are some notable words that I’ll never forget: Don’t you stomp your foot at me!
Because I said so!
Elbows off the table.
Wait your turn.
Just simmer down and hold your horses.
Try at least one bite.
Clean your plate.
You took it – you eat it.
Don't dawdle.
Don't ever be late.
Make your bed.
Pick up your clothes.
Homework always comes before play.
Wash your face and don’t forget behind your ears.
Say please and thank you.
If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.
You’d better change your ways, young man! (This was the most frequent.)
The most significant of all, though, were the words she said near the end of her life. Looking me right in the face, she said, “I want you in heaven with me.” I knew that they were not idle words.
Not long after that, dementia hit her hard in the form of primary progressive aphasia. A couple years later she was gone. But I heard her voice once more.
Here I need to tell you children something not very nice about your great grandmother – she was a terrible singer. When she sang beside you in church, you wanted to stop singing. It was hard to listen to. The more so, because she loved to worship in song. It was enough to make you shiver.
The voice I heard was in a dream – and yes, I believe some dreams are messages. Others are because you know you wrote a bad report for school. I saw your great grandmother on a high podium. She was leading throngs of people, like enough to fill dozens of stadiums. She was leading them in song with both her voice, and with a baton that she used masterfully.
That was my mother who wants me in heaven with her.
And that’s where I want all four of you with me. That’s all the counsel I have because that’s all that matters in the end.
Here are few words that I would like to pass on to you. They are too different from what my grandparents passed on to me: nothing. Not one blessed word of wisdom, counsel, advice or admonition. There was not one single gem of insight into how to handle life, or relationships, or money, or … nothing.
Grandpa Mitchel died 17 years before I was born. Step grandpa Leroy, well, Gramma Vera divorced him. And for Gramma Vera, she loved us, but the only thing that really qualified as advice was that we couldn’t bring our dog to the farm anymore. (He chased chickens.) Not really what we’re looking for here.
Grandpa Carlee only had one eye and he served time in prison for cattle rustling. Well, he only stole one calf, actually. He and two friends stole it, put in the back seat of his car, and sold it for enough whiskey to get drunk. They both turned state’s evidence and got sent to the big house. Grandma Bessie divorced him.
Grandma Bessie now, she had some words. Only they weren’t for me, they were for my cousins that she had to raise because their mother wouldn’t. Those words were usually on the harsh side.
Bessie married O. J. He was cool. Whenever we got together he liked to swap pocketbooks with me. All the money in my pocket for the rubbery-plastic-vinyl thing that he kept change in. He’d show it to me nearly full. Of course when we made the exchange it would be practically empty.
Of my six grandparents, I don’t recall hearing the words “I love you” uttered a single time. But times were different back then. Kids were to be seen, not heard. Kids didn’t get fed first because they might fuss. Kids were what parents had, like weeds in a garden. I’m not even real sure they knew our names. But that’s all okay. I have nothing to complain about. We just weren’t raised to be the very dead center of the universe.
My parents, only two of them. One third as many voices from which to hear sage advice, but a lot more contact, more opportunities to listen. Here again, kids were to be seen, not heard.
Dad often worked two jobs. Or one job and a lot of overtime. Then he left when I was twelve. By the time we got back together three years later, I was pretty much raised and on my own. I had school, a job, and I left for military service at seventeen-and-a-half. And I didn’t care a whole lot for anything he would have had to say anyway.
That leaves my mother. Dear saintly Mom. She busted her butt keeping the five of us fed, healthy, clean, clothed, and in church. And I don’t mean send us off to Sunday School. Mom didn’t so much tell us how to live, but showed us. She was faithfulness personified. I don’t care how busy she was, she had time to read her Bible. She wore ‘em out. I’d look at hers and she’d have stuff underlined and notes in the margins all over it. I’d hear her pray, and my soul knew she was praying for me, especially since I knew that I was the one that needed it most.
As far as words from her to me, there are some notable words that I’ll never forget: Don’t you stomp your foot at me!
Because I said so!
Elbows off the table.
Wait your turn.
Just simmer down and hold your horses.
Try at least one bite.
Clean your plate.
You took it – you eat it.
Don't dawdle.
Don't ever be late.
Make your bed.
Pick up your clothes.
Homework always comes before play.
Wash your face and don’t forget behind your ears.
Say please and thank you.
If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.
You’d better change your ways, young man! (This was the most frequent.)
The most significant of all, though, were the words she said near the end of her life. Looking me right in the face, she said, “I want you in heaven with me.” I knew that they were not idle words.
Not long after that, dementia hit her hard in the form of primary progressive aphasia. A couple years later she was gone. But I heard her voice once more.
Here I need to tell you children something not very nice about your great grandmother – she was a terrible singer. When she sang beside you in church, you wanted to stop singing. It was hard to listen to. The more so, because she loved to worship in song. It was enough to make you shiver.
The voice I heard was in a dream – and yes, I believe some dreams are messages. Others are because you know you wrote a bad report for school. I saw your great grandmother on a high podium. She was leading throngs of people, like enough to fill dozens of stadiums. She was leading them in song with both her voice, and with a baton that she used masterfully.
That was my mother who wants me in heaven with her.
And that’s where I want all four of you with me. That’s all the counsel I have because that’s all that matters in the end.
Hope this isn't too critical of modern child raising. I've no idea how I would navigate today's world.
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