My Grandpa
A couple of weeks ago Casey went to a shooting match with my grandpa. He has been wanting to go to the shooting range with him for a long time. Over the last year they have developed a unique and very special relationship, which is unusual because my grandpa is usually pretty quiet. When Casey was telling me about their day together, he said, "When I met Grandpa at the shooting range..." and I stopped him and said, "Your Grandpa was there?" He said, "No, your grandpa...but he's my grandpa, too." It means a lot to me that Casey enjoys spending time with him. He loves and admires the same qualities in him that I have seen and admired throughout my life. My grandpa flew for Maytag throughout his career as a pilot, and began shooting in competition many years ago. He makes an art out of everything he does, whether it is flying a plane or handling a rifle.
I think that anyone who knows my grandpa has the utmost respect for him, including my dad. When my dad was just out of college, he began his aviation career as a flight instructor. He had to make a short trip to Ottumwa and there were some thunderstorms beginning to develop. Not every airplane has radar in it to help avoid severe weather. As my dad was communicating with Des Moines Departure control, my grandpa could hear my dad's conversation over the radio. "Where are you going?" a deep voice asked my dad over the radio.
"Ottumwa," my dad replied.
"Do you have radar in that thing?"
"No, I don't."
"Hang on," my grandpa said. While he was approaching to the Newton airport, he turned his plane around so he could point the radar toward the storms that were forming to the southeast. "You should be okay. Be careful coming back..."
My grandpa has always watched out for all of us. Men like him are rare, unfortunately. He is honest, true to his word, handles a rifle with the same precision and grace as he does when he flies an airplane, loves his family, and always greets us with a warm smile and a hug. Some of my most cherished memories growing up have been with him. I would sit in his shop on his red stool while he was making ammunition. One wall is marked with all of his grandchildrens' heights at various ages, and he still has the drawings I made when I was as little as four years old, posted on another wall.
His dry sense of humor is amusing, too. When I was little and staying at their house, I had fallen down (some things never change) and skinned my knees. Grandpa came out of his shop when he heard me whining and said with a serious face, "Want me to saw it off?" I thought he was serious and I ran upstairs to my grandma and told her that Grandpa was going to saw off my leg! She laughed. I didn't see the humor at the time, but I have always been gullible.
It is difficult to put into words all of the things that make this man so special, because there are just so many. This post doesn't begin to do him justice...all I can say is that I feel both proud and privileged to have him as my grandpa. He has always been there for all of us, no matter what, and I don't think any of us have ever doubted, even for a second, how much he loves us. I only wish there were more people like him.
I think that anyone who knows my grandpa has the utmost respect for him, including my dad. When my dad was just out of college, he began his aviation career as a flight instructor. He had to make a short trip to Ottumwa and there were some thunderstorms beginning to develop. Not every airplane has radar in it to help avoid severe weather. As my dad was communicating with Des Moines Departure control, my grandpa could hear my dad's conversation over the radio. "Where are you going?" a deep voice asked my dad over the radio.
"Ottumwa," my dad replied.
"Do you have radar in that thing?"
"No, I don't."
"Hang on," my grandpa said. While he was approaching to the Newton airport, he turned his plane around so he could point the radar toward the storms that were forming to the southeast. "You should be okay. Be careful coming back..."
My grandpa has always watched out for all of us. Men like him are rare, unfortunately. He is honest, true to his word, handles a rifle with the same precision and grace as he does when he flies an airplane, loves his family, and always greets us with a warm smile and a hug. Some of my most cherished memories growing up have been with him. I would sit in his shop on his red stool while he was making ammunition. One wall is marked with all of his grandchildrens' heights at various ages, and he still has the drawings I made when I was as little as four years old, posted on another wall.
His dry sense of humor is amusing, too. When I was little and staying at their house, I had fallen down (some things never change) and skinned my knees. Grandpa came out of his shop when he heard me whining and said with a serious face, "Want me to saw it off?" I thought he was serious and I ran upstairs to my grandma and told her that Grandpa was going to saw off my leg! She laughed. I didn't see the humor at the time, but I have always been gullible.
It is difficult to put into words all of the things that make this man so special, because there are just so many. This post doesn't begin to do him justice...all I can say is that I feel both proud and privileged to have him as my grandpa. He has always been there for all of us, no matter what, and I don't think any of us have ever doubted, even for a second, how much he loves us. I only wish there were more people like him.
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| Grandpa (Max Jay) next to the King Air E90 he flew for Maytag |
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