Johnny Carl and
Bertha Beatrice Harrington were the
only grandparents I knew when I was
growing up. I was raised in the same
small town; living just a short
distance from them. I saw them often
and they were the finest grandparents
a person could ask for.
Grandpa was a
quiet man, but very humorous. He
always teased us children, and told
us stories, and we believed every
word he said. He didn't go to
anywhere if he couldn't walk. He
thought cars went too fast, so he
never wanted to learn how to drive,
and even didn't like to ride in one
He walked miles to and from work,
until he was 65 years old, and since
he didn't want to retire, they bought
him a golf cart to ride. He worked
four more years. Five months after he
retired he died from a stroke.
Grandma attended
church regularly, missing only when
she was ill. I remember her as a
sweet gray-haired woman. When she her
combed her hair, it fell almost to
the floor, and she wore it up in a
knot at the back of her head until
she was almost 80 years old, then she
had it cut short and permmed. She was
a very quiet person. She lived to be
85. I miss them both.
I dedicate this
poem to them
Few can bring
the warmth
We can find in their embrace,
And little more is needed to bring
love.
Than the smile on their face.
They've a supply of precious stories,
Yet they've time to wipe a tear,
Or give us reasons to make us laugh,
They grow more precious through the
years.
I believe that God sent us
Grandparents
As our legacy from above,
To share the moments of our life,
As extra measures of His love.
~Author Unknown~
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