My Granddad Stripling was a very active man. All of his life he worked. No matter how hard the job might be, no matter what the working conditions were, or how far the job might take him away from home he did what he had to in order to earn money to pay the bills. He was raised to believe that if a man of an able body did not work then he did not eat. It might seem harsh but that was how my Granddad was raised.

By the time I was old enough to have any real memories of him he was retired from the job he had held on to last. I will be honest I do not remember what he did for a living. I just remembered he worked. We lived a town over from him (about forty-five minutes away) and would go to visit on holidays and random odd weekends. Just to see how he and his wife (Grandma Polly) were doing. 

They lived in this small but cozy house like most grandparents might live in around these parts. One that had two small bedrooms, a big living room, a decent size dining room, and a huge kitchen. Perfect for family visits. The house would smell like some form of southern comfort food. A welcoming place for any grandchild to visit. 

Grandma Polly would be in the kitchen cooking and talking with the other women in the family. Granddad would be out in the yard. It did not matter what time of day it was or what the weather was like outside. All that mattered was he was out there doing something. Whether he was weeding the flower garden he tended or showing off some new tool he had gotten he was always outside. 

I think what stuck in my mind the most was the fact that he seemed to chop wood a lot. He would cut down the trees around his house that were dying and then chop them into pieces just big enough for firewood. He would stack it up with proper order. It amazed and confused me. Someone who was as old as he was getting out there doing work that was very physical for anyone. It confused me because he did not have a fireplace. 

When I was about fifthteen, I got brave. I decided to ask him why he was doing such a thing. I think I asked him if he sold the wood. He stopped what he was doing and wiped the sweat from his brow with a bright red hanky from his back pocket. He looked at the sky in his quiet way. He had always been a man of few words. This time was no different. He looked down at me and gave me a small smile “Because I can.” 

No lectures of trying to connect with himself on a deeper level. No declaring he was trying to get closer to God or trying to ponder the meaning of life. Just three simple words that held such a deeper meaning for me. I just would not realize how deep those words would be until many years later in life.

I would be thirty-two years old and expecting my youngest daughter, Maria. In was in March of 2006. We were heading to Hawkinsville to bury my Granddad Stripling. He had died and we were about to have a service for him in his hometown. As we went down those dirt country roads. The ones I am sure my Granddad had run up and down when he was a lot younger. I was lost in thoughts about this and that when the memory of that day hit me. 

As odd as it had seemed to me at time it was his way of saying that he might be retired but he was alive and well. He was not dead yet and would not become a bump on a log because he was retired. He would find things to do. Even if it meant cutting up firewood without a fireplace. Just because he could. 

That to me was more amazing at that moment than anything else. It told me that I could do anything I wanted with the right mind frame. I just had to have the same “Because I can” outlook on life. It was the best gift he ever gave me in life. One I plan on passing to my children as well.