A Return to Gratitude
I remember my Grandpa Starr being a pretty gruff, no-nonsense type of person. He had the tendency to be short with me and my brother at times. My brother Jon and I would help him with yard work when my family would visit him and my Grandma Starr down in the little berg of Maiden, North Carolina. There would be times when we would be standing in his garage and he would be working on some project that required a tool that was on the other side of the garage or on a bench just out of reach. "Look at where I'm pointing!", was the exasperated phrase I remember him saying to my brother and me as we struggled to bring him the tool or instrument he was after.
I remember once all three of us piled into his "truck/car" — or at least that's what my young mind equated it to — It was a car with a bench seat, but it had a truck bed in the back (I believe it was a Chevy El Camino from around 1981 or so.). Anyway, we were driving along — maybe to get a hot dog for lunch or something — and Grandpa proceeded to "hawk a loogie" on to his still rolled up driver's side window. He turned to Jon and me and said, "Now look at what you made me do!" Of course, my brother and I both looked at each other inquisitively, wondering how him spitting on his window was our fault; but there he was putting the blame on us. Maybe we were causing a ruckus at the time and drove him "over the edge" in a manner of speaking. I honestly don't recall what proceeded the event... I just remember being blamed for it. I feel as though we all had a laugh about the affair later that day.
Once, while visiting Grandma and Grandpa — I was maybe 8 or so — I remember playing in their yard. I happened upon a big black snake that must have stretched five or six feet in length. It was very still and had half its body up a tree in the front yard. I rushed to find Grandpa, who took a hoe from the shed and made short work of the creature. He then had my brother and me dig a grave of sorts so that no one would step on the snake's fangs and injure themselves. We buried the chopped-up snake just behind the garage.
As I mentioned earlier, my brother and I would do chores for my Grandpa Starr... yardwork mostly. I don't rightly recall the specifics of what we did, but I feel as though it amounted to the equivalent of moving a mound of dirt from one location to another. During one such excavation, I discovered an old North Carolina license plate from the '40s or '50s. Grandpa called me over so that he might inspect the rusty plate I had just unearthed. He was moderately impressed with my find as I recall. He became excited about the prospect of cleaning up the plate, painting it and hanging it up in his garage. His excitement was contagious. He tasked me with cleaning up the thing and painting it. Grandpa procured the proper paint — yellow for the numbers and black for the background — authentic to the year of the plate we had found. Cleaned and painted, the license plate took up a permanent spot of prominence in Grandpa's garage/shop. The displayed work was a source of pride for my young, adolescent self. I took care to look for the piece during every subsequence visit to Grandma and Grandpa Starr's house.
Every so often, when we'd finished the yard work and chores Grandpa had in mind for us to do that day, he would let my brother Jon and me take turns shooting a BB gun he owned. He would sit on a lawn chair and point at things for Jon and me to shoot at in the woods just behind his house. Often, he'd point out small birds way up in the trees. Jon and I would shoot at them, but of course, we never hit anything... until one day I aimed at a small bird Grandpa had pointed out, pulled the trigger and — to everyone's astonishment — that little bird plummeted to the ground. All three of us rushed to meet the little bird. When we came up upon it, we could all see that it was injured and flailing. I, with the gun still in hand, had to shoot it again... and maybe a third time, before the battered creature was dead. I feel certain my little brother looked at me with the wide-eyed terror of someone who had just realized that he was in the presence of a cold-blooded killer. Grandpa was quite pleased with my eagle-eyed marksmanship. I faked a smile and a look of triumph, all while concealing a feeling of disgust, horror and sorrow.
Those are some of the recollections that come to mind when I think about my Grandpa Starr. He was a stern, no-nonsense, gruff, sometimes short-tempered man. He was short on affection. I don't know that I ever caught a glimpse of him being tender, overly emotional or vulnerable. I never saw him cry. He passed away when I was in high school. He left for me a pocketknife that I placed in a wooden box along with some other "treasures" of sorts I had collected in my youth: baseball cards, old coins and such. I forgot about the pocketknife my Grandpa Starr left for me... until about a week ago.
I was driving to work, and as I drove, I suppose my mind drifted on to acts of kindness, and tokens of affection I had received throughout my life. After a few moments of contemplation, I remembered the small knife my grandpa had given me all those many years ago. Having not given that gift a second thought since I was in high school, I was suddenly struck by the realization that this may have just been my grandfather's way of telling me he loved me. "I should dig that out. I'm pretty sure I know where to look", I thought to myself as I drove. That evening I dug through my box of knick-knacks and found the pocketknife. The object fit nicely in the hand and had a sharp edge. I added it to my inventory of everyday carry items, and it's been in my pocket ever since. I get a bit excited when the need of a knife arises now. I remember my Grandpa Starr when I use it, and that brings a smile to my face.
“And do you know, I came with horror to the conclusion that, if anything could dissipate my love for humanity, it would be ingratitude.” ~ Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov
I'm a bit embarrassed to have gone 30+ years without properly appreciating the gift given to me by my grandfather. May I be keen to recognize and appreciate the abundant gifts, both large and small, I continuously receive each and every day.
