Growing up, my grandfather was more of a father to me than my own dad and stepdad ever were. Everything I learned about being a man, I learned from him.
My grandfather always treated people with respect. He was a man of strong opinions, but he could disagree with you without making you feel belittled or dismissed. Growing up, he was one of the few people in my family who would treat minorities just like regular old folks, rather than using those words and epithets for minorities that you so often hear in the South.
He had a kind and generous disposition, but not to a fault. He truly understood the value of hard work, and the trap of laziness that welfare can breed. If he knew someone down on his luck, he’d offer them a job before he offered them a handout, and save them both of their dignities. He truly was genteel in all of the best meanings of that word.
My grandfather had a big impact on my attitudes about family, though I didn’t realize it until I was much older. Providing for a family means more than bringing home a paycheck. He has to do more, to be more, than that. A child learns so much by playing with and being a part of their father’s life. And my grandfather did so much more for me in that way than either of my own fathers.
Being a father isn’t something you are. It’s something you do. Being a father is teaching your child to swim, to ride a bike, to take a punch, or throw one if necessary. Being a father is teaching your child right from wrong, and why you don’t hurt people, or lie and steal, or throw that punch unless you absolutely have to. Your child will learn so much about the world, and how to live in it, by the things they do with you. My grandfather taught me so many things.
My grandfather loved to fish. He taught me how to bait a hook and cast a reel. He taught me the patience that comes from practicing that cast, over and over in the back yard, until I could put the bait where I wanted it. He taught me to sit quietly, while waiting for a fish, but to remain attentive so that I wouldn’t miss the bobber dancing. He taught me the excitement of catching and reeling in the fish, and gave me the confidence I needed to grab it off the line and pull the hook out of it’s mouth, even though I was afraid of getting finned or bitten.
He taught me that with life comes sacrifice. Fishing isn’t a game–in the end, you kill the fish and you pull its guts out, scrape it’s scales off, and make it fit to eat. And that part’s not fun…but it’s necessary. We tend to take that for granted, with our food pre-packaged, clean and neat and guilt-free. But something died for every steak you put on your plate. We live in a sanitized, homogenized existence. But there’s no escaping that circle of life. Things are born, they live, they die.
I learned so many life lessons from him, fishing, or swimming, or playing dominoes.
Last night, my grandfather passed away.
My grandfather was a devout Christian in the Church of Christ, and while I haven’t shared his faith in a long time, I have always been moved by how genuinely Christian he lived his life. There’s a lot of people in the world, of any religion you can name, who only want the label of their religion. I believe my grandfather truly tried to live a life that he felt Christ would have approved of. If there is a God in Heaven, I hope my grandfather is in His arms. I cannot think of a more deserving person that I know.
My grandfather wasn’t perfect, but he was a great man. I know that I’ll never live up to his example. I have too many faults and vanities. But I would be proud to be able to leave this world half the man he was–and I do my best to be the kind of father to my own son that my grandfather had been for me.
Rest in peace, Coleman Johnson. You were sincerely loved, and you will be missed.