For as long as I can recall, Papa always had a blue truck. I remember when I was in the hospital as a little kid, staring out the window waiting to see if I could find the blue truck pulling into the parking lot because he and Gram were in it. Papa’s office was in the basement. It was a cool basement because one half was the shop with tons of tools � all so neatly organized into labeled file drawer and shelves. And the other side was his big oak desk. Lisa, Matt and I used to play down there for hours. We dreamt of our own building company and used all the cabinet, shingle and siding samples that he had.
Papa is one of the hardest working guys I know. I remember him taking me through the printing place he worked at when I was a kid, and how awed I was that he ran this massive piece of machinery called a Heidelburg 4 color press, and how alot of his fingernails were all thick because he had caught them in the rollers of the press. Papa gave me my first Pantone chart (from 1977). He and dad worked together on construction jobs pretty much my whole life. We did roofs, siding, additions, basements, garages, and about everything else you can imagine that has to do with a house. Papa was the one who picked up the nails and bent them straight for reuse, and kept the work area clear so that people wouldn’t be tripping over their tools and cords and random pieces of wood. He was usually the guy on the ground, doing all the cutting for dad up on the roof. They would yell measurements back and forth, and since both of them were not to great in the hearing department, it could get quite humorous sometimes. His and Dad’s trucks were night and day when it came to tool organization. I could never ever find anything in Dad’s truck… it was a jumbled mess. But Dad could ALWAYS manage to pick it out (usually right in front of my nose). Papa’s had bigger tool boxes and they were always very well organized.
I think I learned that from him. Organization, that is. I don’t think I have quite achieved the level to which he is at, but I am working on that. One area I will never achieve is his math skills. I still have to count on my fingers. But Papa could always do number stuff in his head. So amazing to me.
I know I am rambling on here, and my thoughts are not really even cohesive at all. I will probably come back and rewrite this at some point, since there is so much more I can say. My point is that I love my grandfather so much for all he has taught me. For his generosity and care and goodness to others.