Everybody Has a Story: Grandpa’s comfort takes back seat

It was the summer of 1951. My brother, Bill, was 13 and I was 11. Our father had passed away six years earlier, leaving Mom to raise two sons and manage the family hardware store in the Dalles.

Our closest family was 150 miles away, thus providing little close support for a mom valiantly trying to be both mother and father, running a business and being the family bread winner. My brother and I learned skills and responsibility both at home (cooking, yard work, laundry) and at the store (stocking shelves, eventually clerking). An English teacher by education and vocation, Mom made sure we took schoolwork seriously, but she also found time for extracurricular activities, Scouting experiences, sports and annual vacations.

Even though he was many miles away in Kennewick, Grandpa took on a significant role. By age 83, poor eyesight had forced him to give up driving. Even so, he made frequent trips by train to spend time with Mom, Bill and me. These visits were often made with little notice, or none at all. But he always had a plan, mostly to spend quality time with grandsons who didn’t have a father.

One Friday, Grandpa called Mom from the local train station to announce his late-afternoon arrival. Uh-oh, that was a problem — we had just finished packing and were ready to leave on a weekend camping trip. Mom’s dilemma was, cancel the camping trip or convince Grandpa to come with us? Coming along would mean finding suitable camping clothes and supplies for Grandpa, who was a meticulous dresser, always wearing a suit and tie when traveling. Reluctantly at first, he finally agreed to come with us, and Mom somehow came up with the needed clothes, added more provisions to the food box and found an extra sleeping bag. Off we went.

It was well after sunset when we arrived at camp. We piled out of the car in a dark forest campground, with a river running alongside. Grandpa looked in all directions and asked in an almost accusatory tone, “Where’s the motel?”

Mom, obviously taken aback, hesitated only a moment. “Dad, I told you we were going camping, not ‘moteling’.”

A few uncomfortable minutes followed while Grandpa explained how many decades had elapsed since he’d slept outside, that his body wasn’t up to sleeping on the ground, and that it was not only undignified but dangerous. Mom held her ground, stating that she had promised her sons a camping trip and strongly suggesting that next time he should let us know before “willly-nilly climbing on the train without calling ahead.”

Of course, in Grandpa’s mind that would have meant making a long-distance call. Buying a train ticket was OK, but spending money on a telephone call was truly frivolous behavior.

Thankfully for Bill and me, Mom won that argument, and after a hurried camp dinner we set up the tent and sleeping bags, climbed in and went to sleep. Upon awakening in the morning, we were surprised to find that Grandpa wasn’t in the tent. There was no sign of him outside, in the vicinity or at the camp outhouse. It got close to panic time, but just before starting a search of the entire campground and river, one of us looked in the car.

There was Grandpa, curled up asleep on the back seat. I don’t ever recall seeing my mom in tears, but she was close to it by this time. After Bill and I were given orders to start the morning campfire, she and Grandpa went for a walk, well out of our earshot, to discuss the matter.

Later, after a breakfast of pancakes and bacon, a family meeting was held. The decision was that our best chance to salvage the weekend was to give up on another night in the tent. As a compromise, we stopped at the Warm Springs Indian Reservation near Bend (long before it became the Kah-Nee-Ta resort) for an afternoon swim, and returned home to pitch a backyard tent for Bill and me to continue our weekend campout. Not the perfect solution for us boys, but it worked.

My 11-year-old perspective was that it was a funny situation, but still a bit of a lost weekend. Many years later, it’s still an amusing story but also has evolved into recognition, appreciation and love, not just for a mom who made immense and life-long sacrifices for her sons, but also a grandpa who did everything he could, despite age and infirmity closing in, to give his grandsons as normal a childhood as possible. Funny how time changes perceptions and makes us appreciate the love, wisdom and efforts of our parents and grandparents.

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