To me, Grampa was always “old”. In 1960, when I would have my first memories of Grampa, he was 80. So, yes, he was old. Between 1960 and 1968 (the year we moved from Rutherglen to Porcupine), I remember going to Aunt Edna’s house many times for many occasions and seeing Grampa. I don’t remember him at our house, which had been his home for many years.
I remember Grampa loved to watch “The Edge of Night”, a television soap-opera. He’d laugh about it and comment about what a mess everyone’s lives were in that show.
He reminisced about when he was a young boy in school, sitting at his desk, behind a girl with long pigtails. He used his pencil to play with the lice that fell from her hair onto his desk and he’d bat the bugs into his ink well. He paused and looking sad said thoughtfully, “I wonder whatever happened to her.” I’ll never forget that.
Grampa always sat in the same chair beside the fireplace in the livingroom. He smoked a pipe and sucked on humbugs.
He smiled a lot and seemed kind.
By 1968, when we moved, I was into my early preteens and was oblivious to anyone but myself. He died in 1972. The stories that man could have told.