Week two of reminiscing about my grandparents. This time about my grandfathers.
Published on Father’s Day, 2016:
Thought about my grandmothers on Mother’s Day which naturally led to thoughts of my grandfathers. What good men they both were. I am fortunate to have a written history of the Stuart family that traces back in detail to 1782 (with some ad hoc facts further back than that). It chronicles every descendent of Lewis Stuart, born in 1782, through to my children’s generation. I find this book fascinating. The author, my great-aunt, didn’t hesitate to chronicle both the saints and sinners in the family. In my eyes my grandfather was one of the saints. I’m sure he had flaws, but they weren’t apparent to the little girl he doted on. I loved spending time in his hardware store with the hand-operated elevator, manual cash register, and spools of rope and chains underneath a long wooden counter. There were holes in the counter that you pulled the ropes and chain through and a yard stick nailed to the counter to measure it. I felt so strong when he let me help snip the chain with a huge pair of bolt cutters. And he taught me the correct way to count back change.
My grandfather Simmons’s family is not so well documented and sadly I have lost track of most of them. Like Granddaddy, Papa seemed to never tire of having a tag-along on any errands or chores. He would let me ride in the back of his old pickup or sit in his lap and drive on the country roads around Stanton. We would ride out to his farm to “check on things” and fish in the cow pond. I don’t remember ever catching a thing and doubt there was anything but tadpoles in the pond. (I do remember ruining a new pair of shorts because my brother and I decided it was a great idea to make a mudslide down the bank into the pond. Mama wasn’t happy with me, but she wouldn’t talk back to Papa.) After about 15 minutes I’d get tired of fishing and tell him it was about time for a piece of pie and a cup of coffee. He would act like he’d never heard such a good idea and we would go to the little restaurant out by the interstate where we would sit at the counter and have cherry pie and coffee. Mine was just like Papa’s only whiter and sweeter.
My grandfathers were born in 1894 and 1896. Granddaddy died in 1973 and Papa in 1977. They both served in WWI in Europe. They never talked about it much. They saw cars replace mule wagons as the standard mode of transportation even way out in the country. They made the transition from radio to color TV as a primary source of daily entertainment. They saw men walk on the moon. They both read the newspaper from cover to cover every day. They were faithful husbands and loving fathers. They patronized local businesses. Granddaddy Stuart made sure Grandmama shopped equally in each of the three grocery stores in town because his was the only hardware store. I never heard either of them utter a racist statement even though they lived their entire lives in the deep South. All patrons came in the front door of the hardware store and were waited on in order, regardless of color. I hope some people reading this are too young to understand the significance of that.
Well, after all they were just men. Small town boys. Neither ever flew on an airplane. They weren’t educated. They weren’t presidential material. Wonder why they left such a lasting impression on a little girl?
Laura
A Light for My Path 
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