Stan the Man

Thirty Days of Thankfulness, Day 22

In addition to yesterday's post about Gigi, there's another person I've been missing.  I wrote about my "Grammy", Eleanor, a few days ago, and although I mentioned my grandpa, you didn't get the full scoop.

My grandpa's name was Stanley Edsel Wogen, and we called him Grampy.  Together with my grandma, he raised his six children, living first in Flint and then moving to the suburbs.  That house was his home for the rest of his life, and continues to be my grandma's home.  He kept his yard picture perfect, and had an amazing garden every year filled with beans, pattypan squash, peppers for canning and the best tomatoes you've ever had.

Grampy loved fishing and when he'd come to the cabin in summertime, he'd take me out in the little tin boat. My favorite fishing memory with him was when we had ventured to the far side of the lake, just before sunset.  We were fishing for bluegill and he had one on his line.  Suddenly, a bigger fish must've chomped down on his bluegill because he could hardly hold onto his pole and our little boat was being dragged back and forth in the water!  He kept reeling and reeling for what seemed like forever, and just as he was about to land the fish, the line snapped and everything went quiet and still.  We may not have brought home a big catch that night, but we had a great fish tale to tell, and sometimes that's just as good.

My birthday and Grampy's birthday were just two days apart, so we always had a joint birthday party.  Of course, he'd always let me open my presents first and then I'd watch him open his gifts, along with sappy birthday cards that always had him wiping away tears.  Grammy would always make us delicious cakes and pies and we'd blow out our candles together.  Birthdays were a little lonely for me for a few years, but little Nash happened to be born on Grampy's exact birthday and now I have someone else to share my celebration with.  I wonder if Nash realizes what big shoes he has to fill of his great-grandpa's.

You've heard me talk about our Sunday dinners at Grammy and Grampy's, where she would take care of the inside baking and he'd take care of the grilling-mostly so he could sneak a little smoking in on his pipe.  I would always pretend to hide as I watched him get out his tobacco and pipe from his toolbox and he'd turn around and feign surprise and tell me not to tell Grammy he was smoking.  It was our little secret and I'm sure Gram had NO idea, right?  After dinner, the kids would get rowdy in the house and he just wanted to relax, so he'd yell, "GO PLAY ON HILL ROAD!", which we all knew was a joke, kind of.  And then he'd take a little nap and pop back up, a new man.  Sometimes, we'd stay until almost bedtime and even into my teen years I'd beg him to carry me to the car.  He'd scoop me up and carry me out and he always made sure to scrape my face with his whiskery face.  Sometimes he'd tell me that he hadn't shaved that day on purpose-just so he could make sure I got the full effect!

Grampy came to nearly every game I played in in high school and college.  Even when he got sick near the end, he'd make sure to get into those bleachers.  It sure was great seeing him and my Gram up there in the stands.  And I remember at his funeral, when we all met together as a family before the service, that the pastor told us not to be sad-that he loved funerals like these where family and friends were gathered and he was absolutely certain that my grandpa was in Heaven.

He was a great and honorable man who served his country and his family and he took great care of all of those around him, especially my grandma.  Even now, if she hears a noise out of the ordinary, she doesn't get scared.  She just says that's Stan, making sure she's alright.  Today, I am thankful for my Grampy, for the great man that he was and for the great memories he left me with.