Telling Me Stories...

My Grandpa Don is always teaching me something, showing me how to live life better. He doesn’t do that by teaching me lessons, per se,  he does it by telling me stories about his life. His stories span decades that many of us have only read about in history books. Born the year the stock market crashed; he was a Depression baby.

To survive during the Depression, he was separated from his father and sister for several years; his father and sister living in Utah, him and his mother in Idaho.  The family was reunited in Idaho where he would cross the railroad tracks to play with his cousins. When they could find some extra pennies, they would put them on the track to smash them flat. Christmases were very lean.

“In my mind I can’t see he Christmas tree, but I see a toy car, a toy trailer attached to the car. Both were a bright red. I lost the car; I still have the trailer. The car is on a shelf in my basement.” 

He has several other Christmas memories,

“Two other gifts, a blue motorcycle and a small black stuffed dog left a lasting impression on me.”

Jumping forward to 12-years-old,

“My father, however marked by the Depression, worked hard to provide on Christmas. I received a work bench and a set of tools dad had a man custom build. To this day I use that bench.”

The historical event that stands out most to him happened when he was 12.

“Pearl Harbor. Dec 7, 1941. The war wasn’t on our soil but we feared it could be. We did not have a television. We gathered around the radio to listen to the progress of the war.”

His older sister was the studious one, never missing a day of school. He, on the other hand, was mischievous, not the best student, would antagonize his teacher with his harmonica and sluff school to hide in the ditch all day. One day he got a hand me down bike. He called it his new old bike. He rode it to the park and forgot about it. He walked home, when he went back his new old bike had been stolen.

He learned to enjoy sports and outdoors from his dad. He also got a 4-10 rifle one year for Christmas. That morning he got on his bike, rode west to the river and went hunting. From that point forward he enjoyed duck hunting.

His sister almost died in an airplane crash when he was in high school and he almost drowned in Yellowstone Lake while celebrating his high school graduation. He met his wife, my Grandma, at a dance; married her, built his own house using the hammer from the set he got for Christmas as a child, raised five amazing children, and mourned the loss of one.

His Most Recent Story...

THE HUNT
By the Time Traveler

My Grandpa Don recently told me a story about hunting. This story begins when he ventured out to hunt some geese with his 12-gauge Winchester Pump, an upgrade from the 4-10 he had when he was younger. All alone in the swamp, he sees a flight come in…big birds, must be geese. He gets one as they come in,  and one on their way out.

“When I picked them up, they appeared to be gray in color. Yes, I had myself two gray geese. I didn’t realize gray geese had such long necks. Well, wishful thinking convinced me. I headed for my truck, on the way I met a man.”

He stopped and asked him what he thought of the birds, but the man spoke little English and just replied, “Good haul, good haul.”  When he got to his truck, he tried to hide the birds under a tarp but wasn’t fast enough. Here comes the warden.   

“Hello boy, have any luck?” says the warden.

“Ah..y, y, ya…’couple gray geese,” stammered my Grandpa.

“Leme see dem gray geese," the warden replied suspiciously. "That’s like shooting a farmer’s donkey thinking it was a deer. Gotta arrest ya boy.”

Yep, my Grandpa shot and killed two SWANS. The fine for shooting a swan was $300 each bird plus having your rifle confiscated. My Grandpa needed a plan. So, he decided,

 “To have Jeanenne, my pretty wife, Karen, our baby, the cutest baby on the block. 
Yes, l think I will work them into the plan. I will have Jeanenne dress in plain clothing, no jewelry, and the same thing with the baby. No bows in the baby's hair, nothing extra.This should distract the judge, maybe even get a little sympathy.

So, I convinced Jeanenne to come with me to see the judge. I think my plan worked. the judge let me off with a 25-dollar fine. He did tell me that I was lucky that I was arrested by a local warden, had it been a federal warden you would have been in big trouble. 

That was 60+ years ago. I still have my 12-gauge Winchester pump.it has not been fired since. Jeanenne didn't want to cook gray geese anyway.”

The story was entertaining and humorous and left me with a smile on my face. How could my Grandpa have mistaken these swans for geese? My Grandpa explained that they were young birds, still had gray feathers and maybe, just maybe, he just wanted to believe they were geese. Then he said this to me,

“Had I been a younger man, I never would have told you this story. For the years I have left I can stand the jokes. At the time I didn’t even tell my dad or his outdoor buddies.”

The Lesson...

And boom, there it was! I just learned a lesson about the importance of stories. Because time is never guaranteed, we cannot hold on to our stories for fear of embarrassment or shame. We can’t wait until our lives are nearing the end before we share our experiences. How many stories are we holding on to, holding them hostage, refusing to share, that might help someone, make someone laugh, teach someone a lesson, help someone get to know us, or just leave a legacy for our loved ones?

I challenge you to dig deep and find some of those stories you’ve been holding onto and SHARE them.