My Grandpa

My Grandpa Johnson was a one of a kind. He was born John Arthur Johnson everybody called him Art, I called him Grandpa. He was quick to smile. He had a mischievous look out the corner of his eye that I see in my Uncle Vern and my own grandchildren. He was tall, well taller than me. A giant in my mind. He had snow white hair that laid smoothly on his head. On Sunday’s he was often told "go comb your hair" at which time he would promptly revert to his bedroom and apply some Brilcreme. I guess to keep his hair off his forehead.

During the week he wore blue jean bib coveralls "gosh b’gosh" was tagged on the front. Grandpa would wear 2 shirts, summer and winter. You could see the ribbing from his T-shirt sticking out the sleeves of his work shirt. He would say "what keeps you warm in the winter keeps you cool in the summer."

Grandpa’s hands were his most memorable trait. Large, tanned, weathered hands, strong and muscular. He’d sometimes hold my hand as we would walk. They felt like leather as he’d grip my fingers. He had work gloves, I guess, just to keep his hands some what clean while doing farm work along side his eldest son. His hands could dry the most delicate dishes with ease. They could fold and wrap lefse to perfection. And they could make leather harnesses for his homemade horses to pull his crafted wagons. And one hand could hold his half of the hymnal. Even tho he never sang along. He said he did, with that mischievous look in his eyes, but I couldn’t hear him.

He smoked a pipe, watched boxing on tv on Saturday nights and drank butter milk in small glasses that I latter found out were jelly jars. He drove a blue 2 toned Edsel car and never drank liquor or cursed. A few days after Grandma died Grandpa told me she had come to him as an angel. I miss Grandpa everyday since he left, but I’m sure he’s with his angel. Yup, my Grandpa was a one of a kind.