Learning and Legacies by Charley Sutton

I'm pleased to welcome Charley Sutton to the Wednesday at the Window. I always enjoy his Facebook posts and am so glad he decided to visit us here today.

I turned fifty-four years old in January. I never dreamed that I would make it to fifty let alone fifty-four. Twenty-one took forever. I was twenty-eight when my daughter was born, and thirty-six when my son was born. The first year of sleepless nights with my children seemed endless, but time flew by after our kids slept through night. Sometimes I think it flew right past me and out the window taking my ambition with it.

But, something has changed recently. I came to realize that I miss small children in my life. I see pictures of my cousin’s grandchildren posted on Facebook. I come from a big family, and it seems like someone is always posting new baby pictures. I’m ready to be a grandpa.

I had an idea about how fatherhood would be before I became a dad, because I borrowed some kids now and then when we first got married. Nephews and nieces made caring for children look simple, but my kids shattered that glass ceiling and took me way beyond my comfort zone. My kids taught me how to be an adult whether I wanted to or not.

I don’t have a lot of experience with grandpas. My paternal grandfather passed away fifteen years before I was born. I only had my maternal grandfather as my example of a seasoned grandpa and my father as a new, inexperienced grandpa. Grandpa had always been grandpa, but I got to watch my dad change from dad to grandpa.

As a child, there was always a seat available on my grandpa’s lap. He always had a story to tell and a few minutes of love to give. I’d never heard him say “I Love you,” but I felt it. All of his grandchildren felt it. When a memory of him pops to the surface, it’s the first thing that washes over his grandchildren.

There are dozens of memories of my grandpa floating around in my head. I started writing them down before I forgot them. So much has faded since he passed away. What once was as accessible as water from a tap is now much like an old hand pump. It has to be primed and pumped to produce anything of value.

Over the past fifty-four years, my grandpa and my dad taught me things that I never realized I was learning. My thoughts, actions, and values are a mixture of their theirs. A lot of who I am comes from my dad and grandpa. I just hope I inherited their grandpa genes.

My grandpa taught me patience. I watched him draw a watch on one of my younger cousin’s wrist with a ballpoint pen. He drew an entire watch including the face, the band, the buckle, and the stem. When he was finished, the result was a watch very similar to the one he wore. The child sat quietly for the whole twenty minutes it took to draw the watch.

Years earlier, I wore that same ballpoint pen drawn watch for several days. I had grandpa redraw pieces that came off with a four-year-old's bath. I wish someone had thought to take a picture of one of grandpa’s ballpoint watches on my wrist. I’d give anything to see it again. When the time comes, I’ll do my best to draw a watch on my grandchild’s wrist. Hopefully I’ll be as patient as he was.

Grandpa also taught me persistence. My grandpa would sit for hours staring at a fishing pole and touching it only when it moved or to check his bait every half hour or so. When he did check his hook, he would cast his line right back in the same spot it was before. I had to reel in my line and check my bait thirty times an hour, and I never cast my line to the same spot. I chose a different spot each time.

For grandpa it usually paid off in the form of a large catfish. For me, it was half a dozen snags that broke my line, ten or eleven worms thrown off of the hook, and another half dozen hooks stuck in the limbs of the trees that lined the river. Sometimes I’d catch a fish or two, but not very often.

My grandpa was the patriarch of a large family. He spent a lot of time around his grandkids and some of his great grandkids. Most had worn that priceless watch or sat on the front porch with him killing flies. His stories taught all his descendants dozens of lessons about life and love.

From my dad, I learned forgiveness. Years ago I took the pen from his hat that he needed for work each day. I needed to write down a phone number, and I didn’t put the pen back in his hat when I finished. I laid it on the table beside his hat. He left for work without it.

When he got home from work that night, Dad took the time to tell me what I did wrong and then he didn’t talk to me again until the next morning. By sunrise, I was forgiven.

Years later, my daughter took my dad’s work pen from his hat to draw. She lost the pen. I panicked and began frantically searching for the pen. I was looking in the cushions of the chair when he spoke.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“She lost your pen for work,” I replied sheepishly.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’ll pick one up at the gas station tomorrow”

“Who are you and what have you done with my father?” I asked. He just smiled at his granddaughter and went back to watching TV. For his granddaughter, forgiveness took seconds instead of hours.

One day my wife had to work, my mom was working, and I had the day off. I decided to visit dad. On this day I learned indifference.

When my daughter and I got to dad’s house and walked through the door, my dad handed her his solid gold necklace worth about $700.00. She slipped it around her neck and ran into the kitchen. She opened the cabinet where mom keeps the pans and grabbed a handful of canning rings. After three trips, she had about a dozen of them on the floor.

She lost interest in the canning rings after a few minutes and sat on the end of the couch opposite of my dad. She started watching TV which had somehow landed on cartoons. Dad got up to get a drink of water. On his way back to the couch, he stepped on one of the canning rings.

“Son of a…” he said.

I got down on my hands and knees to pick up the canning rings.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“I’m picking up the canning rings,” I said as my mind dug deep into the chest of childhood fears to find the fear that had popped when dad had stepped on one of my abandoned toys. I couldn’t find it, but it’s ghost was there. I listened to its whispers for a few seconds before dad’s voice pulled me back to the present.

“Put them down. She wasn’t through with them, yet,” he replied.

“Who are you and what have you done with my father?” I asked. He smiled at me and watched Courage the Cowardly Dog with his granddaughter. He was indifferent to the moment of pain that had lasted for hours when I committed the same offense.

These two men have forged their legacies as grandfathers. Both have taught me valuable lessons on how to be a father as well. I’m sure I’ve messed that up dozens of times in the past twenty-six years. The best that I can hope for is the good memories overshadow my mistakes.

Now, I think being a grandpa someday will be my shot at redemption. It might just be a chance for me to show my kids that I’m a lovable old coot who adores them and their children.

There is another thing that my being a grandfather could be. It could be my chance to buy noisy toys, feed them sweets, and send them home to give their mom and dad a taste of the sleepless nights I had when I raised them.

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My name is Charles Sutton, and I am a maintenance technician from Peru, Indiana. I’ve been an avid reader for as long as I can remember. I’ve always aspired to write and have put pen to paper for almost as long. As I grow older, finding the time to write gets easier. Join me on my blog at  or find me on Facebook.