|
Think On These Things Newsletter>
Grandfather's Bible and Sam's Old Hairs
January 25, 2008
My brother, Dennis, and I would sleep on the sofa bed in my
grandmother’s den when the family would stay the weekend
while my father spent the days in the Air National Guard. I
remember with fondness the mug I called my own, refusing to
use any other glass or cup. The cookie jar I would rush
toward each time we arrived on Friday, wondering what kind
of cookie my Grandmother Roark would have that particular
time. Wondering if they would be homemade or store bought,
though ultimately it did not really matter. But most of all
I remember my grandfather’s Bible - it’s soft leather feel,
it’s smell, and the well worn pages I could see through if
I held them up to the light. I would use my grandfather’s
Bible when I went to church with my grandmother.
Dennis and I did not always go to church when we were
visiting Grandmother Roark, even though we always attended
church at home. There were three reasons we would not
attend church at grandmother’s. If grandmother was ill, we
wouldn’t go -or mother would stay home with whichever one
of us was sick. Due to Grandmother’s receding eyesight and
coordination, bad weather would keep us from church. The
third reason we would not attend church when we visited
Grandmother Roark was if we watched The Children’s Hour on
Channel 5 which had a religious bent. Which gave us an hour
of "modified bible study." It was also not uncommon for us
to watch the church service (one of the few local services
which was televised at the time).
When I went to church with Grandmother, Sunday School
was not an option. Which was fine with me since, as a young
boy, Sunday School was always more fun than the service.
The First Baptist Church of Arlington was larger than the
church we attended when we were home - making the Sunday
School likewise. I would follow Grandmother through the
Sunday School halls in search of the correct class, tightly
clutching my grandfather’s Bible in my small grasp. That
Bible was my known entity in an unknown situation.
The Sunday School class inevitably consisted of rows of
folding chairs facing a podium - usually on wheels to move
from class to class as necessary. I always received a
visitor’s ribbon which I dutifully pinned to my suit coat.
Even though wearing the ribbon made me nervous to be
singled out - it also made me feel somewhat special. When
you have stuttered all of your life - even at twelve years
of age - any chance to feel special is an occasion. Being a
stutterer also made me a good listener.
Being good at listening led me to be able to think about
other things while still listening. I did not want the
Sunday School teacher to feel slighted or ignored by
reading the materials or looking through the maps at the
back of the Bible while he/she was talking. When my mind
wandered, I studied everything on the walls, the design of
the floor tiles, and the person’s back in front of me,
which brought my eyes to the back of the folding chair. The
sticker in the middle of the back of the chair proudly
announced that it was made by Samsonite Folding Chairs.
During one of the Sunday School visits - after I had
gone through the routine of following Grandmother to the
correct class and pinning on the ribbon - I took my usual
place behind the last filled row. It was rather interesting
as I recall. It took longer than usual for my mind to
wander. It took it’s usual path around the room then back
to the person in front of me. When I looked down for the
usual sticker I got a little surprise. Someone who had been
considerably more fidgety than I was had taken the time to
scratch out just a few strategic letters. What my eyes saw
when they reached the sticker was "Sams old hairs."
I do not recall if I laughed out loud or not - knowing
my dread of embarrassment, I don’t think so - but I’m sure
I at least snickered quietly. While the memory of the
teachers, the lesson, and the classroom have dimmed over
the years, I will never forget that chair. To this day, I
choose Samsonite when it is a choice. I’m glad I have the
memories of my grandfather’s Bible on those Sunday
mornings. I feel rather embarrassed for myself - knowing
that one of my biggest memories was a defaced sticker on
the back of a church chair. I remember thinking at the time
- "that’s pretty funny, but in CHURCH?!"
On Christmas several years later - I was in high school
- I opened my present from Grandmother Roark. It was my
grandfather’s Bible with the cover redone in leather and my
name in the bottom right corner. Not to slight anyone who
has ever given me a gift, but that is arguably the best
gift I’ve ever gotten - certainly from my grandmother. I
had bothered her for years to get the Bible.
"But if you leave it here, you’ll always have a Bible to
use when you visit," I can hear her saying. Grandmother
Roark was a practical woman and never gave things lightly -
especially religious or family heirloom items.
When I picked the Bible up and held it in my hand, I
knew that somehow I was now worthy of it. I held a place in
her heart that led her to do this for me. It didn’t occur
to me at the time that there was also another reason why I
received the Bible that Christmas. Grandmother Roark never
saw another Christmas. She had wanted to give me the Bible
herself and see my face when I opened it. Her death was the
result of an accident so I don’t think she had thought she
would go that soon. But I know she felt she didn’t have
anytime to waste on the important things.
I have that Bible on the shelf with the others I use
now. I do not use it much to keep it in good condition. It
also has some of the smallest print I’ve ever seen in a
full sized Bible. But I pull it out ever so often and flip
through the worn pages, reading his notes and looking at
the maps in the back. The inscription on the flyleaf to me
in my grandmother’s handwriting below the inscription to my
grandfather when he was given the Bible. I didn’t put it
together until years later, but the Bible was given to my
grandfather by one of his classes at Dallas Tech High the
year my father was born. Once again the Bible brought mist
to my eyes.
That’s the story of grandfather’s Bible and Sam’s old
hairs. I cannot attend Sunday School without thinking of my
grandfather’s Bible when we read the verses for the lesson.
Using folding chairs just makes me smile - even though they
are not Samsonite. And using most of the letters - and only
one letter twice - what I get out of Samsonite Folding
Chairs is "God’s Son cares if I fail."
The weekends at grandmother’s are some of the fondest
memories I have of both my grandmother and my brother
Dennis, who never saw the age of thirty. May my
grandfather, grandmother, and Dennis all rest in peace. And
all who have gone before us.
Peace be with you.
|
|
|
