I never felt fatherless as long as I had my grandpa . . .


s9Today I’m sharing  from Steve Stinnett’s book, The Life of a Baby Boomer. It is filled with positive faith beliefs, as well as heartbreaking childhood experiences and I thought I’d like to share some of those memories today using excerpts, but remember these are Steve’s words and not mine.

By the time I was three, I’d already begun to wonder why the man my mother told me was my father never spoke to me. He’d come to my grandparents’ house every weekend, but he’d only pick up my brother and never acknowledged my presence. I learned to hide in the bedroom when he came, pretending I didn’t care that he didn’t want or need me.

I felt safe in that corner house with my grandparents. The faith I’d developed with my grandparents was preparing me for a life of greater faith and purpose. I felt secure when I heard the lonely whistle of the trains roaring by or the shouts of the iceman delivering giant blocks of ice to my grandparents’ house. Right next door, two huge rustling pine trees grew, and I loved the scent and sound of them. It was 1951, and World War II had just been fought and won, but what had any of that to do with me and my world?

My mother officially divorced her husband when I was two years old, although we never lived together in the same house. I was too young to feel a sense of shame, but my brother, at age six, felt humiliated by the fact. My father had never been a part of my life, a fact I always wondered about, and my brother seemed to miss him.

My grandpa seemed magical, like my own personal wise man, a person who had the answers to all my questions.

When my grandpa called me on a hot summer’s day, I knew to come in a hurry. He handed me a kite he’d made with an old newspaper. He’d used a hankie as a parachute to tie onto the string with one of my toy soldiers attached. I watched his freckled hands tie the soldier with a solid knot. I always loved those gnarled old hands that could make anything from wood or paper.

Grandpa watched as I ran and ran; shouting, “Run, Stevie, Run,” and I’d make the kite soar higher into the air.

The higher the homemade kite flew, the closer the soldier with his parachute climbed. I’d hold my breath, stopping to watch the toy touch the kite, and then stared hard as the hankie parachute released, causing my soldier to drift to the ground.

I’d race to the shrubs and pick up my soldier, but as I brushed off the dirt from the soldier’s face, somehow I knew my grandfather was telling me it was okay to soar and take a chance, and it didn’t matter if I didn’t know where I might land. I didn’t realize then that my grandpa was showing me God’s power and greatness that was inside me.

Thank you for sharing some excerpts from your book, Steve. I know the story quite well, but it still touches my heart to hear some of the difficulties you had growing up, and yet how you still managed to persevere. I find it uplifting and I hope others do too. Where could people find your book?

You’re welcome. Here are my links: http://www.amazon.com/THE-LIFE-BABY-BOOMER-ebook/dp/B00CMTCGT0/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1381682701&sr=8-3&keywords=the+life+of+a+baby+boomer


Thanks for stopping by.




Designed and Powered by Elijah Web Solutions