Sunday's Sermon

Grandpa's Changes

by Brent Olson



Our family got together this weekend and during the course of the day,
my grandfather, my mother's father, was brought into the conversation. He's been dead now for almost thirty years, which is plenty of time for the world to change.

He was a fine man and a good grandpa, and like all good grandpas, he had
some fairly clear opinions about what made sense and what didn't.

One of my cousins mused out loud that he had often wondered how Grandpa
would react to some of the things that we take for granted. The example that he said always popped into his mind was the way we pay a buck a bottle for water. He had a vague feeling that Grandpa wouldn't approve.

After further discussion, I decided there are a lot of things I wouldn't
want to try to explain to Grandpa. The way people drive five miles to a health club to walk on a treadmill would be tough. I hope he'd be able to laugh about that, but it's not a sure thing. I doubt that throughout his whole lifetime he ever exercised just for the sake of exercising, let alone drove to a fancy club, put on skintight clothes and walked on a treadmill while watching TV. I think the whole exercise industry would be a little hard to explain. Look at bicycles.


I'm sure that tight, funny-length shorts, helmets that look like somebody melted a milk jug on your head and bicycles that make you ride bent over with your butt up in the air are very ergonomically sound, but on the whole, it looks pretty idiotic. The very thought of the look in Grandpa's eyes when he first saw Spandex makes my skin crawl a little.

Body piercing. Now that would be a tough one to explain. Especially the
kind of odd ones, like studs through the tongue (or less obvious places). Grandpa himself had any number of piercings, but they were all done by a variety of farm equipment, none on purpose, and well earned over the course of an active life.

Grandpa farmed most of his life on a fairly rocky piece of ground. Rock
piles still remain that were placed there mostly by his hands. Last week we saw an ad that listed rocks for sale. You can buy rocks, for landscaping I suppose, in sizes that range from hand-held up to the big boulders that would have required a team of horses to get them off the field. A cousin who lives in New Orleans paid $.59 a pound for the rocks he put in his yard. Grandpa would
get a big kick out of paying good money for rocks to pile up in the yard
next to the house.

Most of the family members who were participating in this discussion
consider themselves to be gardeners. Gardening is a popular activity in America, and there's quite a bit of farming blood moving through the veins of the people in my family, so it makes sense that it's probably even more prevalent among us. Grandpa came into the discussion again when the fact was brought up that you can buy dirt in fifty pound bags for $2.39. I know it makes sense. I mean, if you live in the city and want a potted tomato on your balcony, the dirt to put
it in has to come from somewhere, but you've got to admit, times have
changed.

I've decided that I wouldn't even mention the bags of cow manure for
four bucks.