shortstory1

Me and Grandpa’s Special Place

He and I became great pals. He always called me Cotton-top, which was very appropriate considering my hair was almost solid white when I was a boy. I always enjoyed getting to spend a weekend with him. He always had time to talk to me and listen to what I had to say. As a young boy, I always saw Grandpa as a strong man being afraid of nothing.

The intense, orange, summer-dawning sun was beginning to rise over the western portion of the Ozark hills, giving birth to another beautiful Saturday morning with much adventure in store for those daring enough to pursue. Grandpa and I rose at the crack of dawn preparing for another fishing adventure. After our usual store stop, we arrived at our favorite fishing hole called Carter’s Landing, a place on lake Tenkiller near Tahlequah, where both pleasure and horror loomed.

The rippleless water, forming a mirror image of the opposite bank and clear blue sky, proved great for fishing. As almost always during this early morning hour, a tranquil aura embraced our special place, producing an atmosphere so quiet that I could hear a bird squawk clear across the lake. The air smelled so fresh with the scent of honeysuckle protruding all others, and the sky seemed bluer than ever before.

As usual, I began fishing for perch, and Grandpa began fishing for catfish out in the main channel. I wasn’t having any luck around an old stump that was just a few feet from the bank. I kept moving my bobber here and there around the black stump, searching in vain for the big blue gill that I just knew would love the big, fat, juicy, worm on the end of my hook. Finally, I gave up the belief of there being any perch near the stump, so I set my pole down and began fooling with the candy that Grandpa had bought me. One thing Grandpa always did when I went with him; he stopped by the store and bought me candy before we went on our little fishing adventures. Anyway, I began fooling with a Pixie Stix because I always got them. As I was trying to get some of the sweet orange flavored powder out of the paper tube, I glanced toward the stump area in the water.

All of a sudden, I realized I couldn’t see my bobber! I grabbed the pole and jerked as hard as any seven year old my size could have, and believe me, I was pretty small. The fight was on! My reel started singing like a squealing pig, and my pole bending almost in two. I started screaming, "Grandpa! Grandpa!" He came running yelling, "What’s a matter! Cotton-top." I yelled, "I got one Grandpa, I got one!" He responded "You sure have!"

Anyway, with Grandpa’s coaching I landed a huge three pound catfish with my little black Zebco 202 rod and reel. He was so proud of me, and never once did he try to take the pole, as some folks do. He was proud, and I was also proud that he was my grandpa, and I had done well.

The one thing I always pursued as a youngster was to make Grandpa proud of me. That’s what led to the next incident at our favorite fishing place. We were fishing on another Saturday morning as usual. Grandpa had made the necessary candy stop for me and all seemed very content. I figure I was probably around 10 at this time.

Grandpa wasn’t fishing in the main channel as he usually did. Instead, he was fishing in the area where the creek enters the river. I was fishing out in the main river. Grandpa had moved around the bend out of my sight. I became bored with fishing and was rummaging through my candy. Then a great idea came to me: "I’ll make Grandpa proud of me by moving everything down the bank to where he is fishing."

I had been practicing steering the car for quite some time, so I just knew my driving would impress him. I loaded up the gear into Grandpa’s old white, two-door, automatic, Ford Falcon. I got in the car and could barely see over the dash, having a view just between the top of the dash and the under side of the steering wheel, while stretching my feet to reach the brake and gas pedals. I sat thinking about this challenge that I had made to myself for several minutes. I knew I was able to steer, but I wasn’t so sure about the combination of steering and working the pedals.

Finally, I told myself, "I know I can do this, and I know Grandpa will be proud," so I started the car up, pulled the lever into drive, and proceeded to drive around the bend to where Grandpa was fishing. As I was pulling up, Grandpa turned around, stood there with his fishing pole in his hand, and didn’t seem shocked at all.

I stopped the car, with some difficulty, put it in park, opened the door, and got out. I said, "Grandpa, I thought we needed all our stuff down here by us, so I thought I’d bring it since I was coming." Grandpa just sort of stood there for a second and then said, "Why Cotton-top, I didn’t know you could drive." I said, " Why I sure can Gramps didn’t you see me." Grandpa said, "Why I sure did and you seem like a very fine driver indeed." Well, I'm sure you can guess whose head was swelling about now. I was sure proud of myself that day, but that was a common feeling for me when I was with Grandpa.

I was talking with my mother one day about all the great times I had with her father. I was telling her about how proud I felt when I caught that big channel catfish and the first time I showed Grandpa that I could drive. Mom laughed and said Grandpa told her all about that little driving adventure. Mom said that Grandpa told her that he was scared to death when he saw me behind the wheel driving up and thought for sure that I was going to drive right off into the lake. I never once detected his fear, but I can remember the amazed look on his face as I drove up. He was really a great man, and I’ll always cherish the times we spent at our special place.

JLTulsa, 1993

This pic was taken in 1964. I was 4, Barbara was 3, and Robert was 7. Not sure how old Grandpa was at this time. I will have to ask Mom.

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