I Learned A Lot of Valuable Lessons from my Grand Father.

Waking up this morning was a joyous occasion. The absence of chores before school, a telltale sign of summer break, filled me with a sense of freedom. I recall the pleasant walk up the hill to my grandfather’s house, the sight of blossoms and everything in bloom, and the delightful scent of fresh lilac blossoms.

I also remember my grandfather. As he went out to the fields, he would prepare the mules and make a fresh tub of water to drink before putting the harnesses on and hooking them to the wagon. This was nice to see. My grandfather was old and did not believe in using a tractor, and according to him, those old mules could go through anything. That was like his seventy-five-year-old house that could stand up to hellfire.

Compared to the regimented school months, my summer days with my grandfather were a stark contrast. He would rise around 7:00, his movements audible from his room. By 7:30, he would emerge, marking the start of a leisurely day. These summer mornings were a welcome respite, filled with laughter and lessons that I still cherish.

I would also play with the neighbors. We would go down to the stream and swim. The water wasn’t deep, about 3 feet, but it was enough to swim in. My grandfather would come from the fields with the mules, unhook them, give them water, and then go to sleep. He had an old Motorola TV, and we would watch The Incredible Hulk on it.

I was fond of summer because everybody was out, and then we would swim with the neighbors. I was about thirteen years old, and the neighbors had a girl the same age, and we would play together.

There was an old house at the corner of our property. We would go there and play until it got dark. I would walk to the corner of the field where their property started, and another house was on the other side of the road.

We would spend the entire summer in this house, our sanctuary, where we could be anything we wanted. We would scribble stories on pieces of paper, passing them to each other during the school year; these were our first love letters, our shared secrets. Sometimes, her parents and my grandfather would join us, creating a sense of community and shared joy.

In this world, we could be anything we wanted to be. Sometimes, her parents would come, sit out, and watch us play. My grandfather would come over and sit and talk, taking a break from his fieldwork.

Looking back on these times, I realize that my good times with my grandfather made me happy and blessed. Although things were not always good, looking back at the good times and burying the bad ones makes life much easier.

My grandfather, a man of wisdom, had a saying: whenever we erred, we would face his discipline. He would always say, “One of these days, you’re gonna thank me for every lick I put on you.” In those moments, tears streaming down our faces, we couldn’t fathom being grateful for the pain. But now, as I reflect, it was these corrections, these moments of ‘Enough is enough,’ that shaped me into the person I am today.