I remember him in his faded overalls and a John Deere ball cap that he always wore, except at the dinner table or when he placed it over his heart as the American flag passed by him at the Fourth of July parade. He didn't smile very much, but a kid like me didn't mind asking him why. Hed reach down and ruffled my hair, saying one day I'd understand, but for now I should just think about things that made me smile.
I remember him taking me fishing out on the lake in a boat he and his dad built a very long time ago. It took in a bit of water, but that's what the old coffee can was for, and it was my job to bail us out every so often. He seemed at peace on the lake, and if I was quick enough to look his way, I might catch him with a very brief smile.
He loved to walk in the woods, where he said the quiet was nice and the air smelled of pine. We walked in silence as I reached for his hand, which felt like sandpaper, and he squeezed it gently, as if he never wanted to let go. I learned a lot from him, and I thought he was the smartest man on earth. He showed me how to appreciate what nature gave us and how fragile it was. He sat us down on a fallen tree to be still and listen to the trees speak to us through the breeze.
I remember asking a thousand questions, and he always found an answer in simple terms I could understand. We would spend entire days observing the sunrise, the sunsets, and every moment in between. We'd eat jelly-and-butter sandwiches, sitting by the lake or sometimes in the boat, not going anywhere. My mom later told me I was the only person who could turn his heart from stone to that of a happy man who cherished our times together, and that she once saw him quickly wipe away a tear as I left to go back home.
I think of him often and the times we shared, and I can never pass by the feed store without seeing a pair of overalls displayed in the window.
I wear my own John Deere ball cap these days, and I patched the hole in the boat I take my son fishing in. He asks me a thousand questions about my granddad, which I try to answer as best I can, as he asks why I smile so much.
He loved to walk in the woods, where he said the quiet was nice and the air smelled of pine. We walked in silence as I reached for his hand, which felt like sandpaper, and he squeezed it gently, as if he never wanted to let go. I learned a lot from him, and I thought he was the smartest man on earth. He showed me how to appreciate what nature gave us and how fragile it was. He sat us down on a fallen tree to be still and listen to the trees speak to us through the breeze.
I remember asking a thousand questions, and he always found an answer in simple terms I could understand. We would spend entire days observing the sunrise, the sunsets, and every moment in between. We'd eat jelly-and-butter sandwiches, sitting by the lake or sometimes in the boat, not going anywhere. My mom later told me I was the only person who could turn his heart from stone to that of a happy man who cherished our times together, and that she once saw him quickly wipe away a tear as I left to go back home.
I think of him often and the times we shared, and I can never pass by the feed store without seeing a pair of overalls displayed in the window.
I wear my own John Deere ball cap these days, and I patched the hole in the boat I take my son fishing in. He asks me a thousand questions about my granddad, which I try to answer as best I can, as he asks why I smile so much.
Mike 2026
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