This is the start …

Louie wrote this letter in 1991. Since then, I’ve become a grandfather several times over. That perspective changed how I viewed Louie’s story. When my kids were little, they wouldn’t have gotten out of my sight. Now that number five is toddling around, I tend to be a little more lenient.

The primary contributor to that change is an increase in patience. A friend of mine stopped by the other day and told a story about his granddaughter. He had biked with her the previous weekend. She wanted to ride through a big puddle on the bike trail. Before we retired, before there were several grandchildren, both Ron and I would have said, “No way!” The kid would have gotten dirty, muddy, and mamma would have raised a fuss. Now the granddaughter wants to ride through the puddle again. And again.

Grandpa Frandsen

Grandpa Frandsen

What did my buddy do? Rode through the puddle again and again, until she tired of the splashing. That would be a lot of splashing. In retirement, like Grandpa Frandsen, we don’t have to get home to fix a toilet, there isn’t a problem at work that needs attention, the pressures of life have somewhat dissipated.

I can imagine the glee that Grandpa Frandsen felt as he watched little Louie ride off on the trike. He didn’t have to deal with the consequences. Mamma could handle it.

Sometimes I’ve wondered about the truth behind Louie’s stories. Some of them are a little far-fetched. Then I found the newspaper clippings describing his trike episode. You can see it at the bottom of this post. I can imagine that Mamma was perturbed.

Maybe someone can help me remember just where Pittsburgh Avenue and Nupen’s elevator were in Jamestown?

Grandpa Guy Havelick



Louie writes:

This is the start of an autobiography of which I was instructed to complete or suffer some kind of horrible fate such as take away my coffee.

As per instructions, I start with my birth. It is said that I knew that this world I was about to enter was not going to be all sugar and spice – so – I came in breach. That is like telling the world to kiss my foot. I have arrived. Continue reading