Asymmetrical Information

From the desk of Jane Galt:

A word about George Farrell

It's one of the great tragedies of human life that we tend to save our best compliments for eulogies. When we're in love, at least at the beginning, we manage to override the human instinct for reticence. But with those we love longest and best, we forget to take stock of how much we love them, how much they have given us, how unique and extraordinary and, well, neat they are. Even in the moments when, for some reason or no reason at all, we are struck by the realization of the terrific power this person has in our lives, and our own gladness that we have been given this marvelous person for our mother, and not some other person who could not be other than inferior, we don't mention it. We forget. Or we are uncomfortable being sentimental. Or we simply don't know how to say what we really mean, and though we throw our arms around that wonderful specimen and exclaim "I'm so glad you're my mother!", we know even as we say it that we have not managed to communicate the grand emotions that inspired us.

I have a wonderful grandfather. I honestly don't think that there's a better one on the planet (although this may be because I never knew my paternal grandfather, who died too young of a heart attack). I may be prejudiced, but I don't think so, because everyone who knows him seems to think he's pretty wonderful too. When my mother went back to her 25th high school reunion, she found the house filled with classmates. They had come to see her, but more importantly, to see her father. They remembered, after 25 years, that he was always willing to spot them $5 worth of gas when they were short.

He owned a gas station, you see. And he earned it. He grew up on a farm during the 1920's and 1930's, and had to drop out of high school for a while to help his father keep the farm together while produce rotted unsold in the silos and milk was dumped out on the fields for want of solvent drinkers. A lot of people had to do similar things, but how many of them went back when they could? He not only graduated from high school, but became one of their star basketball players . . . even though in the harsh northern winters, he more than once had to walk eight miles in a blizzard in order to get to school so he could play. The problem with having a grandfather as wonderful as mine is that he really leaves you with no room to complain about anything that may happen in your cushy Upper West Side existance.

My grandfather worked in a grocery store until he was 26--he married my grandmother on Thanksgiving because it was the only day he could get off. In 1939, the store's owner offered him the opportunity to manage a gas station he owned that was losing money. In two months, my grandfather had it turned around, by expanding its hours and offering exceptional service. In other words, he worked harder than any three men. And he treated his customers with the generosity, dignity, and integrity that characterised him in everything he did. My grandfather is incredibly strong, incredibly tough. But he is also incredibly kind, and more than kind -- he is so fundamentally good that he shines with it. Until last winter, when he had pneumonia, Christmastime always found my grandfather, well into his eighties, standing outside ringing a bell for the Salvation Army. He was such a tireless worker for the Rotary's service campaigns that the regional organisation selected him, this past year, for their lifetime achievement award. Since he bought the gas station from his boss, in 1940, he's done well for himself, but he's done far better for others, including the indescribably lucky members of his family.

I suppose this is why we don't say these things in life, because words always fail. I just can't adequately express how lucky I am to have had this man for my grandfather. In my entire life, I have never seen him say an unkind word about another human being, or do less than his absolute best at anything he ever did, from growing the raspberries that I ate by the handful, pieful, and jam-jar-full, to running a business, to raising a family. And as a friend of the family told my mother, "he doesn't know the word quit". I will spend the rest of my life trying to live up to his example, but I am afraid I don't know how anyone, especially me, ever could.

My grandfather is very sick right now. So I wanted to write this, even though I am very bad at writing about the really important things, because I hope he'll be able to read it and sense, at least, how very much I love him, and how profoundly grateful I am to him, and to whatever kind fate delivered him to me, who had done nothing to deserve such good fortune. I wish that I could make it crystal clear, so that he would know how grateful. And so that you, too, could know how wonderful he is.

Posted by Jane Galt at August 16, 2004 11:46 AM | TrackBack | Technorati inbound links