The Privilege of Grandpa: Flannels, Puzzles, and the Next Harvest

As I sit here tapping away at the keyboard, one word keeps rising to the forefront of my mind: Grandpa.

No—to the snarky kid in the back—I am not referring to my ever-accumulating days on this earth. I’m talking about the fact that, in a very short time, that will be a brand-new hat I get the privilege to wear.

By the time I write my next post, I will officially be a grandfather. It is beyond exciting to know that I’ll soon be holding a little life—one that didn’t come directly from me, but came from the very child I held when he first entered this world.

Naturally, this impending milestone has me looking backward.

Saints, Mawmaws, and the Flannel Giant

Looking back, I realize I’ve often given a lot of the spotlight to my grandmothers. I had the sweet, ever-affirming, saintly Grandma on one side, and the feisty “Mawmaw” on the other—the kind who would put you in your place, but would gladly unleash absolute havoc on anyone else who dared talk down to you. I adored them both.

But then there was my Grandpa. Just typing the name brings a quiet smile to my face.

Even though I eventually grew to surpass him in height and weight, I still picture him as this giant of a man in a flannel shirt. He grew up farming a holler in Eastern Kentucky. Decades later, I met the man who bought that farm in the 1960s, and he told me they tried to till the side of that mountain for just one season after Grandpa left and simply couldn’t do it. How Grandpa managed it year after year was beyond them. But that was just who he was.

His work ethic was staggering. I can’t recall a time his lawn wasn’t pristine, or a chore was left undone. Until his final years, he was always doing—until evening came. Then, you’d find him sitting quietly in his favorite chair or on the porch: never imposing, but always ready to share his wisdom through stories of his past.

Counterbalance and Quiet Moments

When I first found out I was going to be a grandfather and was asked, “What will he call you?” I didn’t hesitate. I knew instantly: I will be Grandpa.

Having raised kids of my own, I understand truths now that I couldn’t see as a child. Parents have to parent. They have to be the “bad guy” sometimes, because refusing to hold the line is actually failing to teach their children. But grandparents? We get a different charge. We get to be the counterbalance. We get to let our grandkids know, unequivocally, that someone is always in their corner (even when they are still in the midst and don’t quite realize their parents are also in their corner).

My grandpa showed me how to band calves, paint fence posts, mend barn roofs, properly stack bales of hay, and take care of what you own. At the end of the day, he’d sit on the porch and just enjoy nature and family. When the weather was too bad to do the outside chores, he even put puzzles together with me. It wasn’t until after he was gone that my grandma mentioned a quiet detail: she hadn’t known him to put puzzles together with anyone else. I wish I’d known that then.

Looking at my own life, he is the essence of who I want to be as a grandfather. I don’t have a mini-farm. My “farm animals” consist of my dogs, and my “harvest” is the indoor jungle currently overtaking my basement. But if you squint your eyes and look through the lens I’m offering… I think you’ll get it.

The Cycle Continues

Will I be the quiet, stoic type my grandpa was? That’s pretty doubtful (almost laughably, if I’m being honest). But will I make sure my grandchild knows he is special, loved, irreplaceable, and that I will ALWAYS be in his corner? I gladly take on that challenge.

In the spring of our lives, we plant seeds. Through the summer, we tend to them, nourishing them through the heat and the storms. And in the fall of our lives, we get to enjoy the fruit those seeds have borne—knowing that inside that fruit are the very seeds that start the process all over again.

Every season demands to be embraced, respected, and enjoyed. Because every season is part of the same precious cycle.

I’m going to be a Grandpa—and I can’t wait for the privilege.