Recently talking to a colleague about parents and grandparents, I was reminded of my Grandpa Joe. He died in the late 1980s of old age. He slowly became senile in the last four or so years of his long and productive life. Born in 1899 in rural Kentucky just south of Lexington, he lived through all the technological changes of the 20th century—airplanes, indoor plumbing, radio, television, penicillin, the interstate system, landing on the moon, microwave oven, video tape, and two world wars. He told me once that he got a job because he told this man that if it could be drawn on paper, he could make it out of wood or metal. I used to love playing in his workshop.
The weekend of his funeral, I was amazed to learn that he had gone to seminary in the 20s in Cincinnati before he had married Grandma. That explained the stories my mom told me about visiting him in the nursing home every week. She said that he was always telling Bible stories and preaching to the nurses and other residents. On one hand, that seemed such a contrast to the grandfather I knew because I never once remember him telling us grandchildren any Bible stories in all the years I knew him. But on the other hand, Grandpa was such a gentle, honest soul.
I also found out that weekend that sometime in the late 60s or early 70s, Grandpa supposedly converted to Mormon. This riled Grandma’s feathers to the bone because she was Southern Baptist. I guess she managed to keep quiet about it in order to keep the peace. She eventually corrected the situation. Sometime before he died, I assume when he was senile enough, she had Grandpa re-converted back to Baptist.
I wonder what she would have said when I became Catholic? Oh well. 🙂
Until we meet again Grandpa and Grandma…pray for us.

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