Grandpa Sid...
When I was in Kindergarten, you let
me ride on your shoulders, even though I knocked your hearing aid out somewhere
in Southern Utah.
When I was in Elementary School,
you were my personal engineer and idea man for every science fair project.
When I was in Junior High, you sat
me down and explained the Gettysburg Address so I could enter a contest, proofread
all my drafts, and attended the awards ceremonies. You sat down at your table
with boxes and laptops to show me how to do family history work, and then
excitedly helped me down into the water to do the work.
When I was in High School, you gave
me my first cell phone just because you thought I should have one, and then
found great joy in supplying me with minutes. You were the only reason my Rube
Goldberg actually worked… Especially the ping pong launch.
When I was in college you called to
ask me what I was eating for dinner, just so we could talk. We’d sit and talk
at your table as I told you all the places you were going to take me traveling,
and you’d tell me your favorite trips and where you dreamed to go. I hope you
have a little time to enjoy Africa someday.
You taught me my sass. You are the
reason I know how to dish it back, and to take a joke. You were the world’s
biggest tease. I’ll miss sitting next to you at dinner, especially at the
cabin, and sneaking food with you. I’ll miss you stealing my blankets, and then
feigning innocence. I remember you nervously watching as you let me back off
the trailer for the first time.
You taught me to stop and smell the
roses when you patiently waited outside the general store for Grandma in
Yellowstone, while feeding us all fudge samples and ice cream. Or when you took
me out for a key lime soda and Sam’s dog biscuit.
You taught me how to drive a boat,
shoot a gun and how to ride four wheelers. I can still see you holding the keys
out as I beg, pretending that you couldn’t believe I wanted to go out again. You’d
take me to the fair, or for rides in the trucks. You taught me how to quote
M*A*S*H with preciseness, and to appreciate the brilliance of a good western-
as long as it was a John Wayne.
You taught me patience as I eagerly
showed you whatever treasures Grandma and I had found on our latest shopping
spree, and listened to Bear Tunes in the boat at Yellowstone. Or when I forced
you to go to movies or such for what I declared “FFF”. You’d usually fall
asleep, but always came and shared your chocolate coated almonds. In the
process you also taught me the proper way to wake someone up during church
meetings.
You taught me how to serve and how
to work. I loved going to the Brigham temple when you were in the baptistery.
You would four-wheel shovel snow down your road, and help Grandma Munns with
her arthritis. You fixed everything for everyone. Whether a washing machine, or
a wooden turtle that got smashed to pieces in the shipping process, it didn’t
matter. It would get fixed. You officiated the military services for so many
funerals, and gave me a sure shot into Girls State. You taught me how to use
power tools, and move wood from the shed to the wood pile, and back, and then
back again.
You taught me to love learning and
always helped me with my work. You didn’t care what anyone was studying,
partially because you understood all of it, as long as we were learning. I
remember your excitement as you explained your knew method for teaching Math to
Holli, known formally as Skittle Math. You encouraged everyone to learn and
stay sharp. I’ll miss sharing cryptoquotes and crosswords puzzles as we watched
movies on the couch and you curled up under your blue blanket. You also taught
us that the gospel was the most important subject of life.
You taught me the meaning of
tenderness. You took care of everyone. You tucked in, carried, and escorted
Samuel the grand-dog about, even with all his sores and aches that made me
nervous to even pet him. You gave the best hugs, which we measured our growth with.
You made sure I had and properly dissected a Silver Mint bar whenever I came
over. When my cat died in 9th grade and I came home heartbroken with
Grandma, you made sure I kept spooning in my chicken noodle soup while you
explained the Atonement. You told me that death was simply a natural part of
life, and that one day you would be gone too. Then you told me that it would
all be okay because we’d all be together forever. It was only a temporary
state, actually ensuring that we could be together. You only terrified me a
little… haha. No one could every doubt your testimony, Granpda. I only hope
that one day mine will be just as strong.
But this past week, Grandpa, you
taught me even more about the Atonement of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
Watching you pass was and continues to be one of the hardest things in my life.
But, the peace and warmth I felt holding your hand and in your hospital room
and seeing your sweet Spirit leave our sight at 9:39 pm Sunday night has
reaffirmed the truthfulness of this gospel. Leave it to you to be teaching all
of us even then. I can’t say you taught us til the end, because you will never
stop teaching us, and there is no end -thanks to our Father in Heaven’s plan. I
will never stop learning from you. You taught me how to live worthy of our
Father’s Kingdom and how to live a full life (granted, you had so many
childhoods, it would be impossible for you not to have had a full one). I know
you’re still with me Grandpa, because I have felt it, but I can’t wait till I
get to give you another hug. After all, while I have had many best friends, you
were my best buddy. And yes, you made that a thing. J
