Why grandfathers are different

[Saltydog235]

Have you ever wondered what the difference is between grandmothers and grandfathers?

There was this loving grandfather who always made a special effort to spend time with his son's family on weekends. Every Saturday morning he would take his 5-year-old granddaughter out for a drive in the car for some quality time -- pancakes, ice cream, candy -- just he and his granddaughter.

One particular Saturday, however, he had a bad cold and really didn't feel like being up at all. He knew his granddaughter always looked forward to their drives and would be disappointed. Luckily, his wife came to the rescue and said that she would take their granddaughter for the drive and breakfast.

When they returned, the little girl anxiously ran upstairs to see her grandfather who was still in bed. "Well, did you enjoy your ride with Grandma?" he asked.

Not really, Papa, it was really boring. We didn't see a single asshole, queer, lesbian, piece of shit, horse's ass, socialist left wing Democrat Obama lover, blind bastard, dipshit, Muslim camel humper or son of a bitch anywhere we went!"

[USMCsilver]

Never had no granddaddy...but I shared this to my FB wall anyways.

[quack head 11]

THIS is exactly how my Grandpa is with me, eveb tho he is 92 years old.

He has a girlfriend named Dot. He said "Son, she told me when we started seeing each other there would be no spending the night and no sex".............(long pause)...............and so far she's kept her word!

He then said, "it wouldn't much matter, it be like planting a potato slip"

A lil later he says, you know I used o have two nails in the wall out back about an inch apart vertically... I asked, why grandaddy???

He replied, when I was younger the top one kept me from pissing in my face, and now that I am 92 the bottom one keeps me from pissing in my boot.

He is a card

[GobblerHntr]

My Dad's father and I were really close we did everything together. He passed away in '86

I was Blessed to have many years with my mother's father until this past October.

Here's a photo I had him take with me last April the day he found out he had terminal cancer. I went and blasted that turkey in the face that morning and then went and spent the rest of the day with him.



I miss them both!

[Tater]

Don't see no tag on that bird's leg.....Ima call da law on you.

[GobblerHntr]

Go ahead

[flockbuster]

Wrote this years ago about my Grandfather. Kind of long but I miss that old man even now, 27 years after he died.


Sitting on the top shelf of my bedroom closet, mixed in with the left over shotgun shells, duck calls, hats, gloves, and other odds and ends of hunting gear is one piece of fishing equipment. A Mitchell spinning reel that is forty years old if it is a day. It no longer gets used although if the truth be told it works better and is more reliable than the shiny, modern, guaranteed fish catching contraptions waiting in the boat. While it may be the best fishing reel I own, it is an heirloom and as such gets the royal treatment it so richly deserves.

In the back corner of that same closet is another reminder of someone near and dear to my heart. The Fox double barrel shotgun is even older than the reel and has obviously seen better times. There is a crack where the butt stock joins the receiver that would make it a danger to life and limb if someone were to actually fire the antique piece. The once ornate checkering on the forestock is only a distant memory and the quail hunting scenes engraved into the receiver is more imagination than fact. All in all the first impression is of a gun that you would be embarrassed to let your brother-in-law use if he showed up unexpectedly at a Saturday afternoon dove shoot.

Those things belonged to my Grandfather, Thomas Edward Hall Sr. Hambone to his friends, Shug to us grand kids. The reel is in better shape than the gun mainly because of a lack of use.
When my grandfather went fishing, he used a 16-foot canepole rigged with 25 pound test line and a nightcrawler for bait. Getting hung up in the overhanging limbs or trash on the bottom wasn’t a problem with this outfit. He just broke off the limbs or dredged up the junk, threw it on the pond bank and went back to fishing.

The memories associated with the reel aren’t so much of the fishing as they are of the man that was my grandfather. The same could be said of the shotgun. Over the thirty or forty years that my Grandfather deer hunted he belonged to three different hunting clubs, owned three shotguns, and shot one deer with each gun. He was a much better grandfather than he was a deer hunter.

When it came right down to it I believe my grandfather went for the times before and after the hunts and the comradery during lunch. The club we hunted at made four drives a day. He would go on the first two and maybe the first one after lunch but I believe he would have rather been back at the club house talking to his buddies.
When he did make it to a stand, comfort was the highest priority. If the mosquitoes were out he sprayed Raid or Decon on the ground and himself with bug repellant. If the Chesterfield cigarette smoke didn’t run off any remaining bugs he would start a fire of pine needles to add to the protecting smog. If it was the least bit cool the fire was started as soon as the truck that dropped us off was out of sight around the next curve. If you had a garden that was being raided by deer, you couldn’t come up with a better game plan to keep them out. Again, Shug was a much better grandfather than a deer hunter.

The memories that the gun and reel bring back seldom if ever involve the instruments themselves because they played such a small part in the making of those memories. I can hold that reel in my lap, close my eyes and see Shug sitting in the back of his beat up aluminum john boat as he tells me that the big gator floating motionless next to us won’t bother us if we leave it alone. I can still feel the comfortable excitement as we gather around the dining room table filled with platters of fish, french fries and hush puppies, all fried to a golden brown perfection. The kids running around, the adults talking between themselves and Shug holding court like the godfather at the head of the table.

After my grandfather died and I inherited the shotgun I decided to use it for one last season in honor of his memory. Each time I sat in the stand waiting I would spend more time thinking about Shug than looking for deer. After that season I retired the Fox out of respect for our times together and a fear of it falling apart under the stress of stronger, modern loads.

Shug may have been the world’s worst deer hunter but he was the kind of Grandfather that every kid should be lucky enough to have. If the fish weren’t biting, we left. If it was too cold to hunt, we rode around while I learned to drive. He often said he got more enjoyment out of seeing my brothers, cousins, and me catching fish or shooting something than if he had done so himself. At the time I didn’t understand. Now that I have kids and nephews and nieces of my own I see exactly what he meant.

Several years after Shug passed away and I was still struggling with my own grief, a friend told me that he believed that our loved ones lived on through our memories. He also believed that when we did the same good things that the deceased had done we not only kept the memories alive but the spirit of the person as well.
If that is true then Shug was well and deeply loved because I see the two generations of his offspring that have grown up now carrying on his spirit all around me. My kids and nephews and nieces have all been taken under the wings of various relatives on numerous occasions. When we were growing up both my uncles spent many days in the outdoors with my brothers, cousins and myself, Today we in turn now take not only our own sons hunting and fishing but every nephew in the family as well.

There is a program put on by the state department of natural resources called Take One Make One where responsible adults take less fortunate kids out for a chance to learn how to appreciate the outdoors. If every one of those kids had a grandfather like mine there wouldn’t be a need for such a program and I am forever grateful for the time he spent with me while he was here.

Thank you

[Tater]

Fed Man is on his way to see ya.

[cudexter]

my namesake is my father's father. a 5'6" marine in the pacific theater.

Died of leukemia in 2006. At MD Anderson Cancer Center, the nurse doing her initial assessment asked about allergies.

"pencilin and ugly people"