A Grandfather's Legacy

Although he accumulated many, I was his first and, therefore, forever favorite grandchild.  Being a generational Texan family, all born in the East Texas-ish area, we were typically close (and did I mention, yet again, that I’m a 5-Gen through both my maternal and paternal branches?)  We visited with each other for entertainment, and went to my grandparents’ house on Christmas Day after an early morning visit from Santa Claus.  (Incidentally, I believed in the fat jolly man until my 13^th birthday and still miss him.)  With my Mom being the oldest of seven siblings, by three minutes, and everyone bringing their specialty cooking, we had plenty to eat.  Southern comfort food.  OMGoodness.  I still drool just thinking about homemade sweet peach cobbler with a sugary crispy chewy gooey crust.  Yummmmy.…. 

Anyway, Elmer “Lloyd” Dover led a pretty dramatic life, although he probably didn’t think of it that way.  He was a working man, a repairman for the light company.  His truck had a nifty plastic water cooler near the tailgate with a built-in paper cup dispenser that my cousin and I drained regularly, drinking cup after cup until it was empty, yet I never remember Grandpa Dover fussing at us.  But, a haunting photograph from our family album shows a twenty-something daddy with a 2-year-old on each knee, grieving over a gravesite.  His beautiful young wife had left him with twin baby daughters, one of whom became my Mom.  He did his best to nurture them with the help of relatives until meeting the lady who would not only raise his girls but also bear him five more children over the next 17 years.  So, the twins having said “I do” to their respective husbands in a huge dual wedding ceremony as 19-year-olds, Grandpa Dover oversaw the arrival of his last daughter, as well as his first two granddaughters, within a year.  Little girls became his way of life, and he doted on us as we hero worshipped him (and his light company truck water cooler.) 

The drama in Grandpa Dover’s life took another turn when he became a patient of Dr. Denton Cooley, the renowned trail-blazing heart surgeon who performed one of his first quadruple bypasses on Grandpa.  Of course, Dr. Cooley called him Lloyd, not Grandpa.  Plagued with early heart disease and still responsible for young offspring, he was the perfect candidate and a tremendous success.  His large family was ecstatic when he recovered and returned home, hopefully to live for many more years.  But, another car hit his truck broadside, and in an instant, Grandpa Dover was gone.

He didn’t even live to see my graduation from high school, so I have few but fond memories.  However, my Grandfather’s greatest impact on me was one he surely did not plan, and one I knew nothing about until adulthood.  I remember Grandpa Dover was the Choir Leader in our church, that he sang beautifully and inspired others to use their musical talents.  It was decades after his passing that an aunt gave me a copy of hymns he actually composed which would reach into my soul with a song he wrote about the perils of putting career before religion.  At the time, I was a harried young lady lawyer bent on proving myself with overachievement, and his prose went straight to my heart.  The stanza “…When you’re weighed in the balance, what then?” speaks to me like no self-help book ever will.  Grandpa Dover didn't write those words for me, but I believe one of his purposes on earth was to influence people over time, including his descendants.  And his legacy of music has done just that for this granddaughter.

Thank God For Grandfathers

I love my Daddy.  Even though he is gone from this earth, Father’s Day is a perfect time to reflect on how much he still influences me.  But, this is a post for Grandfathers: Just because your grandkids are two generations behind you, and you may not understand anything they say or do, and you may think they don’t listen to a word you speak, your love and inspiration can still impact a life.  Take mine for instance.

Life was quite good for me in the grandfather department.  By the time I came along, he already had many grandchildren, but I was his youngest and therefore his absolute favorite.  (Just ask any of them.)  Even though he passed before I turned 18, my paternal grandfather Ernest Lester Luce definitely helped shape me.

Grandpa Luce had an incredible garden where he grew and canned just about anything that would sprout from the ground.  I have yet to taste fig preserves even close to his, though I try every chance I get.  He must have been in his late fifties when I was born, far past the “raising babies” stage in those days, but my parents were hard-working, very young and needed help.  So, he and Grandma provided free preschool daycare (and sometimes nightcare.)  I learned many things at his knee, including how to play the card game Solitaire all day long (drove my Grandma crazy), and wonderful rhymes, songs and hymns.  I got indoctrinated into garden etiquette at an early age, but just couldn’t grasp the concept of walking between the rows, not on the rows.  Yet, he never got angry with me for tromping on his newly planted seeds.  After all, I was his favorite.

Grandpa Luce also had a wondrous tool shed with a very distinctive earthy aroma I dearly loved, but I was not allowed to visit alone for fear of sharp blades and such.  My most vivid memory of that little tin building involves a day of gardening together, when in a weak moment, he granted entry on a quest for miniature aluminum pans to create mud pies - my specialty at the time.  First, there was the faint but unmistakable sound; and then I rushed in on a frenzied search-and-rescue-mission-impossible, becoming breathlessly elated to find, behind the shovels, in a dark corner, there they were:  KITTENS!  Giddy with joy and excitement, I tripped over myself to squeal the good news to Grandpa.  Of course, his advice was to look and not touch, and of course, all I could do was touch and hold and cuddle and pet.   And when I developed ringworm on my arm, never once did he scold “I told you so”.

But, it was on the return drive from an out of town family visit that my Grandpa Luce imparted to me his most lasting impression.  The car flipped twice and landed on its side, trapping all three of us.  An unconscious 10-year-old buried under debris in the back seat, I remained undiscovered by rescuers for awhile; but when I came to, the sound I heard gave me pure comfort while waiting to be freed from the wreckage.  It was a beautiful baritone voice, the same one my father inherited, singing through shock and pain, “I’ll fly away, oh glory, I’ll fly away!”  In my heart, I knew at that moment that our trust in God would protect us and everything would be okay. 

My Grandfather influenced in me a strong Christian commitment, just by being strong in his own commitment, just by loving and nurturing me, just by singing out his faith when I needed to hear it most.  Thank God for Grandfathers, and Happy Father’s Day.