A MAN CALLED BOY

When I was a youngster, growing up around you, I never could figure out why everyone was always calling you Boy. I, of course, called you by your proper name: Grandpa.

I suppose every boy thinks of his Grandpa as a legendary figure. I was certainly no different. It always made me proud, still does to this day, to tell people of my Grandpa’s brave deeds on far Pacific shores, or to tell them that my very own Grandpa was a true-life cowboy, riding the ranges of the Florida prairie.

I suppose every boy, too, wants to be like his Grandpa in ways both large and small. It always made me proud when people said I favored you in my appearance. I wanted to be able to laugh the way you did, free and hearty, when we could hear you next door watching a funny show on television. I wanted to use Lava soap, drink my coffee black, and know all about the plants and animals of the Florida land.

I know now that you weren’t really trying to poison me when you offered me palmetto berries to taste. Of course, in reality,I knew it back then too. Because I always knew you were a good man. Next to my own father, I believe you taught me more than anyone else what a real man is. Strong and courageous, but also gentle and kind. Knowing how to do things, and full of good humor. I will always carry your example with me, ingrained in me from childhood.

Yes, I am always proud to tell people that my Grandpa is a cowboy and a war hero – what boy wouldn’t be proud? But what makes me proudest of all is simply to be able to call you Grandpa.

Steven Holland