I called him Pow. "Granpow"was simply too long
to get my mouth around when I needed to call.
Often, he needed to listen to my latest made-up song,
or read to me from the paper as I sat on his knee.
He was always there for me, whether I was right or wrong.
First, he'd have to light his fragrant, well worn pipe,
stoking it until the cherry glowed in its polished bowl.
Then I'd tell him how good it smelled before I'd gripe
because he wouldn't let me even take a tiny little puff.
Pulling me up on his knee, he'd give my hair a gentle swipe.
From the afternoon paper he'd read, telling me all the news,
about Mr. Roosevelt, who was saving us every day
from the nasty bankers. These were Pow's own private views
but we shared them as if our views were one, grandpa
and grandson of four. Then he pointed at words, giving me clews.
But first, I remember, I had to learn the whole darn alphabet,
'cause sounding out words couldn't be done if you
didn't know each letter and it's sound how could you hope to get
the skills needed to sound out all the words in the paper?
You just had to learn them all and never, ever even forget!
So, sitting on Pow's lap, inhaling the delicious aroma of his pipe,
I set out learning to sound out each word he pointed out.
We spent hours and I never felt so safe. I never wanted to gripe
even when it was deadly serious and I was close to failing to
figure each word out. It was old fashioned learning of another stripe.
I'm sure that's why I treasure reading so much now, late in life.
Words are my favorite things with which to work.
That fragrance from long ago lingers, removing tension and strife.
Though Pow's lap was bony, for a small boy it was right.
It gave balance to learn both reading and the values of life.
Author notes
My grandfather was my hero. He was a self-made, self taught pioneer refrigeration man, bee keeper, raisin maker and operator of a hand cranked ice cream maker. He died a horrible death of bladder cancer when I was nine.
A contest entry
- What is your earliest memory? by Judith Chandler.
590 points, ended November 2, 2008, 13 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Have you been there?
Comments
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I love that you called him "Pow" - we had special names for all the grandparents that came from me mostly, since I was the oldest grandchild on one side. I like the pipesmoke memory too; a touching poem.
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Ahhhh what nice memories of your grandfather. You are very lucky, that's the one thing in life I never had, they both died before I was born and yet I miss them. Strange.
Wonderful write. Good luck in the contest. -
So many things that impress me about this write. I got this wonderful image of the little boy watching his grandpow so intently and storing up these details. I love the way he taught you. It reminds me of my grandfather sitting there with a spelling book testing me but that happened much later. I envy you for spending so much time with Grandpow. Coincidentally, my grandfather also kept bees!
Thank you for such a lovely write and for submitting it to my contest. -
your gandfather sounds like anInteresting man, cancer is a terrble thing i know too many who have gone that way, but your writing made me think of somthing i havent thought of in a long wile. thanks for that, take it easy
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