Is That My Grandfather’s Hand?

This past week, I thought of my maternal grandfather. I haven't thought of him for a long time because he died over 50 years ago. I'm not sure what inspired me to think about my old grandpa.

As a youngster, I used to spend summers with him on his farm. He owned a farm up in the mountains of Pennsylvania and had dairy cattle and hogs. So for many summers I spent with him on that amazing farm.

One thing I remember about my grandfather was his sense of humor. He was always telling jokes, and we all laughed, even though I had no idea what that joke was about.

For instance, "Why did the monkey not eat the banana? Because it was not appealing to him."

I knew there was a joke in there somewhere, but I could never figure it out, even though he told that joke probably 100 times. That was his favorite joke of all time.

I tried to think of all those jokes, and I still don't get the funny part of them. But, he was my grandpa, and therefore when he told a joke, I laughed. That's what a good grandson is supposed to do.

There was a time in the 60s when he had some health problems, and we needed to bring him down to Hershey, where his doctor was. I still remember that very clearly. We took him to the fast-food restaurant for lunch. This was the first time he had ever been at such a place. Up in the mountains where he lived, they did not have fast-food restaurants.

I remember we got him one of the big cheeseburgers, and we sat down to eat them. Grandpa looked at it for a few moments. Finally, he began to separate everything from each other. He laid the bun down and took out the lettuce and the tomato, and all that went with it. He separated them all from each other. Then he began to eat each element one at a time.

I never saw that before, and I'm not sure where he got that.

I then remembered something I did to my grandpa, which was to make fun of him, especially his hands. I looked at his hands and saw so many wrinkles I didn't know where they came from.

"Grandpa," I said, "how did you get all of those wrinkles on your hand?"

Looking at me, he replied, "Well, son, if you must know every wrinkle is the result of one year of hard labor." He looked at me and smiled, and then we both looked at his hand.

"Will I ever get hands like that?" Grandpa laughed and then said, "Only if you live as long as I do and work as hard as I do."

I had forgotten that conversation until just recently.

The other morning, I got up and went to my easy chair for my morning coffee. As I began sipping that delicious coffee, I happened to look at my hand, and I was scared. Is that my grandfather's hand?

I almost had a heart attack as I was looking at my hand and seeing my grandpa's hand. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. It was as if my grandfather's hand was right there holding my coffee cup. How in the world could that be? After all, he's been gone for 52 years.

I looked at that old wrinkly hand and soon realized that it was not my grandpa's hand. In fact, it was my grandpa's grandson's hand. It was like he was right there in front of me.

Processing that was difficult because I did not know how in the world grandpa's hand got on my hand. It was as if he were in the room with me at the moment.

Looking at my hand for a few moments, I begin to count the wrinkles on my hand. If what grandpa said was true, that every wrinkle represents one year of hard work, I must be 150 by now.

Sitting there, I remembered how many times I made fun of Grandpa's old wrinkly hand. I'm not sure what to do, but I might start wearing gloves when I go outside.

In a few moments, I began to smile. The thought came to me that this challenge to my smile was, How many other aspects of my grandpa do I have?

This is an area I do not want to visit. But is it that my grandchildren are seeing me as I saw my grandpa?

The other night, while watching TV, there was a commercial about getting rid of wrinkles. I watched that very carefully, and for a moment, I was tempted to get that cream to get rid of all my wrinkles. When the commercial was over, I sat back and thought very deeply. What is wrong with being like my grandpa? After all, he was a good man. What I should do is to live my life in a way that he would be proud. So, my wrinkles are here to stay.

Recently I read in the Bible a verse along this line. “Children's children are the crown of old men; and the glory of children are their fathers” (Proverbs 17:6).

I’m beginning to see that many things in my life lead back to my grandfather. I need to leave something to pass that on to my grandchildren so when I’m gone they’re remember me.