Remembering my grandfather

I've been a little distracted in life lately. So much so that I've forgotten to keep a log of my life here on Samatlarge. And, quite frankly, I've taken all sorts of abuse for it (ahem, Tex...) and I'm going to remedy the situation.

However, it won't be the most joyful post because I'll be taking this opportunity to talk about someone who recently passed away: my grandfather.

I'm sorry that this post is so long. But, this is my way of sorting through the thousands of thoughts and emotions that have been swirling within me for the last two weeks.

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I don't really remember what my first memory of my "Granddaddy" was, but I think it had to do with my grandparents taking care of me while my parents were out of town.

But, I really remember going to see my grandparents as my family would drive up to Kelowna on long weekends or for our yearly vacation at "The Lake." The Lake was the property that my grandfather had bought in 1959 as a place for his kids to learn how to build things for themselves while inadvertently building their character at the same time. This property holds an incredibly special place in my heart and I never, ever get tired of going there. For me it's become a place of rest. More on that later.

On those trips, I would perhaps see my grandparents once a day over the two weeks. It wasn't until I was older that I realized how little I really knew about by grandfather. It wasn't that he didn't talk. It was just that he rarely talked about himself. What I've since come to know of my grandfather has come through stories from my dad and his siblings as well as what I can make out from old photos.

However, what I did get to know firsthand was how stern he was and how important it seemed for me to have his approval. If my hair was too long, my folks would wonder what granddaddy would think about it. When I chose Theatre as my major in college, I subconsciously wondered if he would approve. I would tell him of my next solid, well-paying, stable, boring job in the hope that he would give his brisk little nod of silent approval.

I would watch my own father bear the weight of these very same pressures. Although, I think it was always much harder for him because he wanted my grandfather to approve not only of his life choices, but of how he cared for his own family.

I'll never forget this one time that he got upset with me. I was about 10 years old and my sister and I were staying by ourselves with my grandparents for a week. One day they took us to this amusement park and treated us to mini-golf. During our lunch in the eating area, my grandfather remarked on seeing something off in the distance. I turned to look at what he was indicating, but I couldn't see it and I said so. "Don't you contradict me," he burst out. Quickly, I looked again and "saw" what he was indicating and rapidly agreed with him, although I really didn't see anything. I learned quickly that you didn't disagree with him. That was my first indication that perhaps he wasn't the warmest man I ever knew.

While he was sometimes a tyrant in his home and over his family, do not take away the impression that he was an awful man. He wasn't. Like all of humanity, he had his warts on top of his beauty.

I mentioned the family property. He bought it grow his children into people of character. Nothing was more important to my grandfather than people with good character. It was at the property that he taught his kids how to swing a hammer, use a saw, drive a boat, build cabins, water ski, swim... It was with vision that he put all his life's savings into that piece of land on the Okanagan Lake. A consequence of his vision is that his grandchildren also were taught the same things on the very same land. It was where I learned to do the exact same things as my own dad. It's where my father taught me to work hard, but also to play and to rest.

My grandfather was also incredibly generous. When my parents struggled with their finances, my grandfather was overwhelming in his help. When our car died, he found us a replacement and bought it for us, no strings attached. At family visits, he would insist on paying for everyone. He would help friends in times of need. In his later years, he volunteered at the hospital because he knew that he was fortunate to have his health and that others needed assistance at their most vulnerable time.

He loved nature and the outdoors. It's what led him to become one of BC's top forest fire fighters and then be put in charge of training a whole generation of men to take care of BC's forests. My grandfather is, in fact, the man who started the water bomber program that is still used today and has become the the textbook that countries around the world use to develop their own programs.

He was strong. He once was a part of YMCA gymnastics teams during the Great Depression. I'm talking about the teams that create those shapes by standing on each others shoulders. You could only become a part of that team by first being able to walk up and down a long flight of stairs solely on your hands. He could still do that up until his late 30s. He used to lead his Forest Ranger trainees every morning in exercises and runs. He could still outrun 20 year olds when he was into his 50s.

For all that, he was a limited man. My grandfather has seen his children succeed him in their work endeavors. He saw men that he himself trained pass over him in promotion and become his boss. He never got further than being the 2nd in command despite his skills and talent. In fact, it was these limits that nearly broke him apart in his 60s. I realized later that he suffered from serious depression for much of his life.

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His death on September 3, 2007 has given me the opportunity to examine his life as well as my own. Like him, I suffer from depression. And honestly, there are times when I wonder if I'm a limited man, myself. I don't want to be and I think the real truth is that I'm not. It's amazing, though, how powerful our family histories can be in forming and forging our view of ourselves.

There are times when I despised his sternness and his "come no further" manner. Over my lifetime, I saw a very angry man and his whole family walking on eggshells around him.

But, at the funeral this past weekend, I heard many of the good, amazing stories of his life. Some I shared above. But, there are so many. It was then that I realized how much I owe Arthur James Kirk for the man I am today. There's some good stuff that has been passed on to me from my father that he learned from his father -- I am a strong, passionate, caring man because of the values and ideals that my grandfather held dear and taught his children many years ago.

This realization brought me to tears. I am who I am because of every good, bad and ugly decision that that 94 year old man had made over his lifetime. I realized that the crap that stains all of our lives is often the most easily remembered by those that we come into close contact with. But, I also realized that it is so worth digging deep to remember the kernels of greatness that also marks each one of us.

Remembering the bad is easy. Remember the good, however, is harder but is much more valuable. Much like in our lives, it is easier to take the road most traveled -- the road of least resistance which is often full of lies and deception and, ultimately, grief. But, the road less traveled... that's a whole lot harder to stay true to, but is the road that good character and wisdom is found on.

I think my grandfather took the road less traveled most often in his life and he has indirectly taught me to do the same.

I will miss him but he is now at peace after 6 years of battling Alzheimers Disease that ultimately left him weak and broken.

Arthur James Kirk, 1912-2007.