Pappy

 September 23, 2020

I’ve bragged up small town life quite a bit lately, but I’m not done yet. I have a pair of brand new snow tires for which I have no use, so I offered them to my granddaughters, both of whom accepted, which means I need to come up with a couple more tires. They of course, are most appreciative, and I am most willing to make sure they are safe this winter. All of which leads me to tonight’s story.

When Linda and I first moved to Sinclairville nearly forty years ago, “Pappy” Okerlund was the village mechanic. He was a crusty old fella, but when we brought Linda’s car in for some work just before winter, he told her she couldn’t be driving on those old tires. We told him we didn’t have the money for new ones, but he responded, “I don’t care. She’s not driving on those. You pay me when you can.” He put four brand new snow tires on her car even though we had no money to pay him. A crusty exterior can often hide a tender heart. Pappy wouldn’t have wanted anyone to know he was a softie inside, and we kept his secret till the day he died. 

Seven years ago, life took a strange turn of events. Pappy and his wife had both died when Linda was talking with their daughter one day. “What are your plans for their house?” she asked. Darla wasn’t sure. After all, it was the home she and her brother and sister grew up in. Six months later, Linda got a call. “Are you still interested in it?” We were, and today we are living in Pappy’s old home, remodeled. I like to think Pappy’s generosity and kindness stayed behind to bless all who enter here. At the very least, it has come full circle.