By Jerry Mack Grubbs
On three occasions I have had a friend go the extra mile as he endeavored to introduce me into an activity in which I had little previous interest. Definition of going the extra mile means gifting me all the necessary equipment to properly participate in the activity. On each of those occasions I evaluated the friend, not the gift, and decided if I truly wanted to spend additional time with that person. There is an old saying, "If you are with someone whose company you truly enjoy, the activity you share becomes secondary, but if you find limited enjoyment in their company, you better really enjoy the activity."
The first experience came from a former employer who was convinced that I would find as much enjoyment in the game of golf as he had derived. I repeatedly declined his invitations to play. One day as I entered my office I found a set of new golf clubs, carrying bag and golf shoes sitting on my desk. Along with this gift was a certificate for golf lessons at Uintah Golf. My construction company had built the Uintah Golf store the previous year and I knew the owner very well. I visited with Gordon, the store owner and asked him what was so exciting about trying to get a ball into a hole. He said, "The game of golf has little to do with getting the ball in the hole and a lot to do with who you spend your time with." I don't know if that statement describes most golfers but it made a lot of sense to me. I gave Gordon the certificate for golf lessons and suggested he share it with someone who desired to learn the game. I had made a decision that my former employer wasn't someone whose company I enjoyed enough to spend additional time with, golfing or otherwise.
Hopefully, I'm not viewed as placing myself above my former employer. He is a good man. He placed trust in me through the years and provided me with opportunities. He even chose me over his own grandson when the chips were on the table. His wiry twenty-two year old grandson Bill thought he didn't have to take orders from anyone in the company except his grandfather and demonstrated that attitude by throwing a punch at me on a construction site. At the conclusion of the altercation I fired him and ejected him from the property. When complaining to his grandfather that I fought dirty he simply answered by saying, "You might not be able to trust that Texan to fight clean but you can trust that you are fired. Better start looking for a job somewhere else." The subject was never brought up again. Years later his grandson and I went to lunch together and laughed about the incident. But his grandfather wasn't someone who I wanted to spend more time with other than occasionally sharing a lunch or brief visit. The golf clubs are probably in one of my son's garages or at the hangar. I have lost track of them.
I see my former employer Clayton Mills only rarely. I visit him during the Christmas season and call him occasionally. He still enjoys the game of golf a couple of times a week when the weather permits. He watches the tournaments and tries to emulate the swing of his favorite players. I'm watching a tournament also but it is a different tournament. My desire is to not only watch and learn from the tournament of life but to also contribute. There is a time to give and a time to receive. There is a time to learn and a time to teach. The man who has not learned should not teach. When I am making a decision whether or not to commit a significant amount of time in an activity with a friend, I ask myself, will I be a better person or will I have made a difference in that friend's life from the time spent together.
I was going to share my other two experiences of friends aggressively encouraging me to enter into activities with them. But I have taken enough of your time. Maybe some other day I will tell you about hunting big game and fly fishing. But more importantly I hope to be able to share with you what I learned from those who introduced me to those activities.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Sunday, August 6, 2006
Looking Back
By Jerry Mack Grubbs
Prologue
Today is August 6th and it is a special day. In fact, every day of the year is a special day to someone. It is someone’s birthday, anniversary, or other celebrated event. Below I have shared a few of my reminiscings that took place on this day of the year.
Chapter I - Serious
On August 6th, 1973, thirty-three years ago today, I attended the funeral of a special friend. She died of liver cancer. She said she was surprised that it wasn’t lung cancer taking her life since she started smoking at the age of seventeen. Her attitude about death reminded me of some of the brave men and women who stoically went to their executions in the sixteenth century as they fought for human rights against the tyrants who ruled the land. She did not fear death, nor was she angry about the circumstances in which she found herself. Although our lives had separated I knew I would miss her.
In August of 1993, twenty years after her death, I finished writing a series of short stories about her that I titled “Legacy of a Lady.” One day while on a flight into the backcountry, I tossed those stories out of the plane one by one. I was chided for my behavior but I knew something that no one else knew; the stories were only lost on paper not lost from my mind. I had written them for an audience of one (me) as a tribute to her. I read them to my family and then returned them back to where they belonged, in my heart and in my mind.
As human beings we have failings and we disappoint one another from time to time. As a teenager I disappointed this lady on occasion but our relationship was such that we could talk about the situation and she often dispensed motherly advice to me. There is a saying that states, “The surest way to turn teenagers off is to tell them something they already know.” Since teenagers already know everything it becomes challenging to find ways to get them to listen, accept and modify their behavior. In reality, teenagers are only students of their parent’s behavior. Remember the old familiar statement about giving adults suggestions, “Advice not requested is rarely heeded.”
Looking back, I do not recall one instance when she and I had one of our little chats that I did not follow her counsel. She had a way of reaching out; making sense of a situation without getting her panty hose twisted around backwards. She helped me see where a small adjustment on my part today would produce significant benefits tomorrow. This lady who shared my mother’s name and treated me as her son was dead at fifty-nine. Her funeral thirty-three years ago today was a sad moment for me but looking back, oh how precious are the memories.
Chapter II – Not Quite So Serious
On August 6th, 2003 while on a solo hike up Rattlesnake Canyon I received a call to meet a friend at the Salt Lake City Cemetery. My wife Kaye would say, “Now Jerry, was that a call from a real person or one of your imaginary friends?” From her question you might get the idea that I was walking with a slight mental limp. Well, it doesn’t matter. After the call I turned around and headed back down the canyon to enjoy a different adventure. Maybe that call was destiny keeping me from being bitten by a rattlesnake that day.
Arriving at the cemetery, I went over and visited my long time friend Bill McMahan. This place had become a respite from the world for me since Bill was buried here. I try to come at least once a month and enjoy the solitude. I have lost other people dear to me, grandparents, the lady who treated me as a son, and even Kaye’s parents but they are all buried elsewhere. So there I stood, in front of Bill’s grave. I reflected on our adventures together that began thirty years ago. I also thought about some of the things we had shared since his death.
I often brought things to the cemetery to share with Bill. When I left the house that morning to hike Rattlesnake Canyon, I didn’t know that I would be visiting the cemetery so I struggled to come up with something that I could share. Bill had only one sweet tooth in his head and he never wasted it on candy bars and other treats. His sweet tooth was for honey. Bill didn’t like just any honey but favored a honey that was locally produced. After his death, his wife granted my request and let me have some of his honey.
I realized I had that honey in my survival pack that day. I also had two bananas in my lunch. I had never mixed honey and bananas but I heard a voice say, “Go for it.” Coming from the hot car, the consistency of the honey was thin. Pealing the first banana I stuck it all the way to the bottom of the honey jar, twisted it up and down and back and forth making sure that it was fully covered.
If the honey could talk it would have complained about that cold banana. But the coolness of the banana just made the honey stick with a heavier coating. I ate that banana covered with honey and began pealing the second one so I could plunge it into the honey jar also. But this banana would be for Bill. As I coated the banana with honey, I began to rationalize in my mind. The honey would make a mess on the grave marker and attract flies.
To solve this problem I would eat the second banana and leave Bill a note telling him how great it was. I didn’t think he would mind. Never before or since that day have I mixed bananas and honey but that doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy it. It was what some call a virgin experience. One day Bill and I will laugh about some of these experiences. Some things happen without any forethought or planning; the moment is just right. When that moment passes it becomes a sweet memory of looking back. It’s hard to get much sweeter than honey on a banana.
Chapter III – Serious Again
My mother-in-law was born on August 6th and I have many memories of our time together as she spent the final months of her life in our home, in our care, in our hearts. In anticipation of her own passing she often said, “I do my crying in private and my smiling in public.” That lesson I haven’t learned very well. I still cry in public.
Epilogue
The fact that these things all occurred on August 6th isn’t what is important. That these special people lived and loved and touched my life in so many ways is what is precious to me. Looking back while at the same time looking forward, I am excited about the future and thankful for the past: the lady who treated me as a son, the man who introduced me to honey and bananas, a mother-in-law who taught me by example how to die with dignity.
Prologue
Today is August 6th and it is a special day. In fact, every day of the year is a special day to someone. It is someone’s birthday, anniversary, or other celebrated event. Below I have shared a few of my reminiscings that took place on this day of the year.
Chapter I - Serious
On August 6th, 1973, thirty-three years ago today, I attended the funeral of a special friend. She died of liver cancer. She said she was surprised that it wasn’t lung cancer taking her life since she started smoking at the age of seventeen. Her attitude about death reminded me of some of the brave men and women who stoically went to their executions in the sixteenth century as they fought for human rights against the tyrants who ruled the land. She did not fear death, nor was she angry about the circumstances in which she found herself. Although our lives had separated I knew I would miss her.
In August of 1993, twenty years after her death, I finished writing a series of short stories about her that I titled “Legacy of a Lady.” One day while on a flight into the backcountry, I tossed those stories out of the plane one by one. I was chided for my behavior but I knew something that no one else knew; the stories were only lost on paper not lost from my mind. I had written them for an audience of one (me) as a tribute to her. I read them to my family and then returned them back to where they belonged, in my heart and in my mind.
As human beings we have failings and we disappoint one another from time to time. As a teenager I disappointed this lady on occasion but our relationship was such that we could talk about the situation and she often dispensed motherly advice to me. There is a saying that states, “The surest way to turn teenagers off is to tell them something they already know.” Since teenagers already know everything it becomes challenging to find ways to get them to listen, accept and modify their behavior. In reality, teenagers are only students of their parent’s behavior. Remember the old familiar statement about giving adults suggestions, “Advice not requested is rarely heeded.”
Looking back, I do not recall one instance when she and I had one of our little chats that I did not follow her counsel. She had a way of reaching out; making sense of a situation without getting her panty hose twisted around backwards. She helped me see where a small adjustment on my part today would produce significant benefits tomorrow. This lady who shared my mother’s name and treated me as her son was dead at fifty-nine. Her funeral thirty-three years ago today was a sad moment for me but looking back, oh how precious are the memories.
Chapter II – Not Quite So Serious
On August 6th, 2003 while on a solo hike up Rattlesnake Canyon I received a call to meet a friend at the Salt Lake City Cemetery. My wife Kaye would say, “Now Jerry, was that a call from a real person or one of your imaginary friends?” From her question you might get the idea that I was walking with a slight mental limp. Well, it doesn’t matter. After the call I turned around and headed back down the canyon to enjoy a different adventure. Maybe that call was destiny keeping me from being bitten by a rattlesnake that day.
Arriving at the cemetery, I went over and visited my long time friend Bill McMahan. This place had become a respite from the world for me since Bill was buried here. I try to come at least once a month and enjoy the solitude. I have lost other people dear to me, grandparents, the lady who treated me as a son, and even Kaye’s parents but they are all buried elsewhere. So there I stood, in front of Bill’s grave. I reflected on our adventures together that began thirty years ago. I also thought about some of the things we had shared since his death.
I often brought things to the cemetery to share with Bill. When I left the house that morning to hike Rattlesnake Canyon, I didn’t know that I would be visiting the cemetery so I struggled to come up with something that I could share. Bill had only one sweet tooth in his head and he never wasted it on candy bars and other treats. His sweet tooth was for honey. Bill didn’t like just any honey but favored a honey that was locally produced. After his death, his wife granted my request and let me have some of his honey.
I realized I had that honey in my survival pack that day. I also had two bananas in my lunch. I had never mixed honey and bananas but I heard a voice say, “Go for it.” Coming from the hot car, the consistency of the honey was thin. Pealing the first banana I stuck it all the way to the bottom of the honey jar, twisted it up and down and back and forth making sure that it was fully covered.
If the honey could talk it would have complained about that cold banana. But the coolness of the banana just made the honey stick with a heavier coating. I ate that banana covered with honey and began pealing the second one so I could plunge it into the honey jar also. But this banana would be for Bill. As I coated the banana with honey, I began to rationalize in my mind. The honey would make a mess on the grave marker and attract flies.
To solve this problem I would eat the second banana and leave Bill a note telling him how great it was. I didn’t think he would mind. Never before or since that day have I mixed bananas and honey but that doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy it. It was what some call a virgin experience. One day Bill and I will laugh about some of these experiences. Some things happen without any forethought or planning; the moment is just right. When that moment passes it becomes a sweet memory of looking back. It’s hard to get much sweeter than honey on a banana.
Chapter III – Serious Again
My mother-in-law was born on August 6th and I have many memories of our time together as she spent the final months of her life in our home, in our care, in our hearts. In anticipation of her own passing she often said, “I do my crying in private and my smiling in public.” That lesson I haven’t learned very well. I still cry in public.
Epilogue
The fact that these things all occurred on August 6th isn’t what is important. That these special people lived and loved and touched my life in so many ways is what is precious to me. Looking back while at the same time looking forward, I am excited about the future and thankful for the past: the lady who treated me as a son, the man who introduced me to honey and bananas, a mother-in-law who taught me by example how to die with dignity.
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