Sometimes gifts come back to us

When I was around eight years old, I saw something at our local J.J. Newberry’s store that I just had to buy for my grandpa. It was a little statue of an old man flexing his muscles with a cape and a giant S on his chest. The inscription read: Grandpa… You’re Super

The first picture attached is of him opening the gift

I remember being proud of that gift. To a little boy, it seemed perfect. My grandpa was strong, steady, quiet, hardworking, and larger than life in the way grandparents often are when you are young.

What I remember even more is that afterward, every time we visited Grandma and Grandpa’s house, I would see that little statue sitting on the shelf among his cowboy books and small treasures. Somehow, seeing it there mattered to me. A little boy notices those things. It told me that my gift had value to him and by extenstion, i had value

Years passed. Grandpa died many years ago. Grandma too. Eventually, after they were gone, the little Super Grandpa statue came back to me.

The gift returned.

What strikes me now is that I am older than Grandpa was when I gave this to him. As a child, he seemed old and permanent, almost timeless. Now I stand where he once stood, and I realize how quickly life moves.

As a child, 58 probably looked ancient and permanent. Now, standing at almost 63, you realize how young he really was. You can suddenly see him not just as Grandpa, but as a man. A working man. A husband. Somebody who was probably still trying to figure life out himself, while a little boy looked at him like Superman.

Grandma and Grandpa gave me all kinds of things growing up. Toys at Christmas and birthdays. Whenever they wrote me a letter, there was often a stick of Juicy Fruit gum tucked inside and maybe a dollar bill. They took us places too, places like Silver Dollar City before it became Dollywood, Gatlinburg, and little adventures that felt enormous to a child.

These were all wonderful, but the older I get, the more I understand that the little statue was never the real gift between us. The real gifts were quieter.

Grandpa taught me to love the outdoors. He taught me to notice animals, trees, weather, and changing seasons. He taught me how to work even when you were tired, and nobody was watching. He taught me how to listen more than you speak. He showed me that a man could be strong and gentle without needing to announce it to the world.

None of those lessons came through lectures. They came through simply watching him live his life.

Funny thing is, when I bought that little Super Grandpa statue as a boy, I thought I was the one giving him something important.

Now I realize he had already given me far more than I could ever return.

Dr. Wesley