Tribute

He sat on the bench beside the road. Down on his luck and without a home, food, or money, he was forced to rely on the generosity of others to survive. He was not well. If he were given the resources to seek professional help, he would quickly be labeled a paranoid schizophrenic. People passed by, not knowing the depravity of this man's situation, believing he was drunk and lazy. For lack of a better word, a bum.

A store sat on the same corner as his bench. He watched the people come out carrying candy bars, cokes and beer but never giving him a second glance. He had no idea what an important role this little store would play in his future. For God had a plan. He was meant to sit on that bench and no other.

The owner of this store had seen the man sitting on the bench on several occasions. It was obvious from his appearance that he was homeless, an appearance disheveled as such that a mother might avoid walking past with small children. He approached the man, quickly learning the man was not well. He was hungry. He was alone. He had no one.

The owner was a man of many investments, only one of which was the little store on the corner. He also owned several rent houses in the area. One was empty. The homeless man was no longer homeless.


Many, many years later, this man still remains within this home. He's no longer alone. He's no longer hungry because of the actions of a selfless, honest man.

This selfless, honest man is my grandfather. As a little girl I often heard him and my grandmother refer to Red. I even met him a time or two when we went with my grandfather to work on the rent houses. I knew they took him food regularly. At Thanksgiving and Christmas a plate was always saved for Red. When we went out to eat, a box was taken out... for Red. But I didn't realize the extent of their generosity towards this man until a few months back.

Grandaddy is seriously ill. He's terminal. Our grandmother passed a little over a year ago, very unexpectedly in her sleep. We know his time in the flesh is limited, that he will soon join her and our Father in Heaven.

After speaking so much of humility on a previous post, I was reminded of him. Because he wasn't the one to share the complete story. My grandfather has never asked for payment. Or for respect or for a pat on the back for doing something a great many of us would likely never consider.

I can't help but to think that this world will be a little darker without him. But his memory, his legacy will shine bright enough to fill that void. ((Almost.))

In honor of Father's Day last weekend, this is my tribute to the man who taught his children and step children to give generously. The man who drove three hours to dig a lost Roger Rabbit out of the store dumpster when he was dumped by accident with the trash on the way out on a family trip, and the little girl to whom he belonged was crushed without him. The man's whose laugh not only lights up a room, but the whole city block.

This one's for you Grandaddy. I am so happy to be your grandaughter and await the day my children are old enough to hear stories of special times spent with you.



Love you dearly,