I really don't know what year this picture happened, but it's how I remember my Grandpa Williams. Occasionally, he would babysit me and Jill, and on those days, he would tickle me. I would laugh until I couldn't breath.
Grandpa had cataracts on his eyes in his later years, and it affected his sight. On one occasion, he didn't do it on purpose, but he stuck his finger in my eye.
I was just little at that time, but I remember how angry I was. Hopefully it didn't alter the way he viewed me or the amount of time he spent with me as a child. I really don't have many memories of him other than that.
My dad would go with him hunting and fishing. I remember pheasant hunting once. Grandpa had a German Shorthair, at least I believe that's what breed of dog it was, and I remember watching the dog zigzag up the field. The dog's nose was to the ground, and his tail was wagging.
He would get further in front of us, and eventually grandpa would warn the dog first. He would shoot one shot when the dog even distanced us further and began brushing birds out of our range--just close enough for a bit of shot to sting the dog a little. Grandpa would curse the dog, and then we'd start again. The German Shorthair did it at least three times.
Years later, a local barber and relative told me what an incredible shot my grandpa was with a shotgun. The barber was Earnest Williams.
Earnest would leave me until last to cut my hair. I would sit for hours. Old Timers from Malad would sit and tell stories and jokes, some of them not for a young boy's ears.
I know this, because when I came home from the barbershop, I told one joke to my sisters. They told my dad, and he took me to the basement in the house on Main Street.
"What does that joke mean?" Dad was really angry. I recognized immediately that it was something I should not have said, but I had no idea what was offensive.
The wait in the barbershop had some disadvantages like this, although many of the stories were funny too, especially some of the things that a couple of the old Welshmen would say.
When my time finally arrived to get into the chair, Ernest would take the large piece of cloth barbers use to keep hair from getting down my neck and on my clothes. He'd shake it once, and then he'd say those words I dreaded. "I'll be right back."
I would sit another 30 minutes in the chair, watching the sunlight fade and listening to the buzz of the lights in that shop. Sometimes I'd play with the chair, forcing the handle back and forth to raise the chair, and then pushing it forward to release it. I would settle back to the ground, and I would pretend I was in some sort of space capsule. The late 50's and early 60's were times when the space was a hot topic. B-movies all showed their take on space travel, and in '61 or so, the first Americans began going into space.
When Earnest returned, he would tell me some of the same stories every time. And he always told me what an incredible shot my grandpa was with a shotgun, one of the best he'd ever seen.
That was after my grandpa's passing. I wish I could remember more.
He didn't have the luxury I have had of being able to spend so much time with grandchildren, doing things that were fun. Grandpa worked hard up until his death to provide for his family.
On a fishing trip, I remember grandpa sitting quietly while a Utah fisherman in a boat approached us. We fished on the bank. The boat came within ten feet of where we sat, and grandpa cursed him. What came next makes me smile. Grandpa warned the idiot in the boat, but the man said nothing. The operator was sullen and creepy. He came so close, that it was a miracle he didn't cut our lines.
Grandpa picked up a handful of good sized rocks, and he pelted the man in his boat. My dad laughed. "My hell Jack!" Dad looked at him, amazed but not as shocked as I was. I was only in first or second grade. I'd thrown snowballs at other kids before, but to see an adult use rocks was something I had never thought I would see.
One thing for sure is this. The creep from Utah didn't make another pass in his boat.
My mom still speaks fondly of her dad. He cooked. And he never forgot her birthday, or any of the other birthdays of his sons and daughters. Family meant so much to him.
Mom refers to him still as daddy. Another uncle was emotional, when he told me once about his last time he spent with his dad before the terrible accident took grandpa's life.
The last picture is one I remember. I was only five or so, but I remember this picture. I'd forgotten about it, until I saw it on one of my cousin's facebook sites.
Grandpa held my cousin Randy on his lap. I remember resenting it a bit. I wanted to sit there. I also remember the shoes I had in this picture. They were Red Ball Keds. At least that's what we called them. There was a piece of rubber on the toe, so the shoes lasted forever. That was a spot where a child my age would wear the toe section out immediately if it were simple canvas. On the back of the shoe, there was also the key trademark, a small red ball label.
It's so fun to see this picture. I called my mom to check to see the approximate time it was. I'm thinking it was summer. Mom said she always had a dinner for the family on grandpa's birthday, but given what clothing I had on at that time, it couldn't have been February. At least I think that is when grandpa's birthday was.
Jill looks to be about six months of age, so I figure it was a Fourth of July dinner. Mom always did that. Even when I was in high school, we had these incredible dinners on the Fourth, potato salad, fried chicken, strawberry shortcake. My mom made birthdays special, because her dad did that for her. She obviously appreciated that, so she did the same for us, and she did it for her family too.
Mom did that on Christmas Eve too. It was Jill's birthday, and mom always had a large dinner. I remember the ones we had on South Main the best. I was very young, a time when Christmas was so special. Mom would invite Aunt Sarah and Charlotte, and Aunt Myra. There were other family members there too, depending on the year. But I remember many from both sides of the family there.
A child's world is a simple one--a life where relationships appear so idealistic and simple, yet when you become older, you notice things that hint at the fact that adults sometimes don't enjoy moments like this, or that adults may struggle with things. They have issues.
The two sides of the family were overtly polite, but things were strained. I never noticed until I was older. But mom invited everyone. She did it when we began doing dinners at Thanksgiving too.
I will always remember those times and people, who still seem so alive in my memory. For me, it's like hearing the sound of a distant train whistle in winter. There is beauty in it, yet there is a mournful sound too. I guess that's why Bob Dylan wrote his song about trains, "It Takes A Lot To Laugh, But It Takes A Train To Cry."
My regret is never having known my Grandpa Williams better. Only knowing three or four stories about hims is so sad at this point in my life. I now am at the age he was, when he passed away. I know his sense of humor only from stories told me by my mother and father. I know his personality only from stories told me by my mother and father.
Dad told me this once, "Don't ever take a wooden nickel." I didn't know what that meant when dad said that to me. It was something he told me, just before I went to college. It didn't take long to realize what it meant. It means not taking crap from anyone.
It was my mission statement in life. I don't believe I was ever mean, except occasionally. It was when something provoked me--like the time I was dancing at a formal dance at BYU as a freshman. I was there with this girl I had dated very seriously at the time.
A return missionary and his date were doing the polka. The music wasn't that kind of music. I was intent on enjoying the moment, and every time this person and his giggling date passed me on the floor, they would bump me. I had enough. I braced myself, like I knew I could as a former offensive lineman, and both sprawled across the dance floor. The girl's legs in the air--the young return missionary on his back sliding in the same direction. I smiled in satisfaction, and my date almost left me standing there. That's the type of person I occasionally was in life.
It was my way of throwing a stone at someone who provoked me like that. I didn't bother them by bumping or touching them, and I expected the same treatment. Things like that happened occasionally, until I became older.
My Annie sometimes still reminds me of times like this, occasionally holding her hand over my mouth. She recognizes the look on my face, just before I say something offensive. It's funny. It's always thought provoking, but it's offensive. But at least I do my best not to do it any more.
Grandpa had a sad life. It began that way, his mother dying when grandpa was an infant. His sister, my Aunt Myra, helped raise him. My guess is that this fact is what made grandpa so loyal in terms of family.
I will forever regret not knowing him. And the loyalty I feel toward my family makes me want to ensure that my grandchildren will know me and remember me.
Unfortunately, I tend to tease them like my grandpa teased me. And I sometimes tickle them until they can't get their breath.
Today is a special day, and it begins now with Pop Pop trying to figure just what to write in a blog.
