Parables of a GrandDad: A master storyteller's family tales in the form of parables

By Jed Junior Ramsey

The stories in this book are things that happened to Dr. Ramsey during his childhood and youth, or to one of his children or grandchildren. He has told them in the style of 'Safed the Sage', a book he read and admired as a young man. In order to make the storytelling easier, he has told the 'children and grandchildren stories' as if they happened t

• Language: English
• Publisher: ReadersMagnet LLC
• Release date: May 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9781949981605

Book preview

Introduction

When I first read the essays written by William Eleazar Barton contained in a little pamphlet for new parents, I was entranced by the way he introduced his immediate family: He called himself Safed, the Sage. There was Keturah, his Wife, his Daughter, the Daughter of Keturah, and his granddaughter, the Daughter of the Daughter of Keturah. He evidently was a retired minister, and most of his essays ended with a good point—often connected with his former profession. I immediately went to the Public Library and obtained some of those little books printed by The Pilgrim Press of Boston or Chicago—publication dates ranging from 1883–1919.

The style of writing had the flavor of the King James Bible, and many of the nouns, especially the important ones, were capitalized. As I read and got to know and love this man and his family, I wanted to share some of my own memories in a similar manner.

I have given my wife the name Francesca, tend to drop the King James style of writing, and the noun capitalization, but have retained the Daughter of the Daughter of as denoting a Granddaughter. I am a former teacher in Secondary School, and a retired professor in a University, and it has been pleasant to recall memories of family, students, colleagues, friends, and neighbors.

The Bible references noted may be used if the reader would like to incorporate these essays into a daily meditation time, or they may be totally ignored, and it is hoped that the stories will bring a smile or a memory to the reader at a time when he or she needs to have the mind stirred in that direction.

Enjoy.

Playing Church

Psalm 118:19–24

The Daughter of the Daughter of Francesca is a first grader! Her little Brother is all of four years old, and loves to do whatever his big Sister wishes. As many children do, they love to play School, and, even though the four-year-old has not been there and does not have the slightest idea of what children do in school, he makes a very good pupil when his sister wishes to play teacher. She calls the class to order, gives the assignments and supervises the directed study. She can be a really exacting taskmaster when it comes to saying The Pledge of Allegiance to the American Flag near the beginning of the study. They soon have recess, though, and go out to play Kick-the-Can; Bear-In-the-Pen; Mother, May I?; or Ring-Around-the-Rosy.

At times they play at other meetings of which they have been a part. I noticed one day that they were hard at playing Church. They had spent quite a while arranging seats in a line which made their Pews. On each seat was placed a group of folded newspaper pages which became their Hymnals, and they had arranged quite respectable Altar and Pulpit at the front of the Chapel.

The Daughter of the Daughter of Francesca was standing behind the Pulpit delivering the Message while her young Congregation sat in respectful silence on a Pew in the small gathering of one.

She made the real high point of her Sermon when she gave the admonition: This is the day that the Lord hath made. Drink ye all of it.

At first I thought that she had gotten the whole thing wrong, as she blended two Scriptures inappropriately. However, as I continued to ponder the truth expressed in those words, it became evident that a little child shall lead them.

If we greet each day with the idea that this is truly the day that the Lord hath made (and made it for all mankind), and that we are to enjoy it to the full (down to the very last drop), then our days will add up to something special. If the days are approached in the opposite way—Oh dear, why do I have to get up today? I’m sure that I’ll never make it through the coming six, eight, ten, twelve hours of this day—the days will add up to a great number of lost moments and discouragements.

Each of us have 24 hours to use every day. Controlled attitudes make the difference. This is the day that the Lord hath made. Drink ye all of it.

Praying The Alphabet

Romans 8:26–27

The Son of the Daughter of Francesca has learned a lot of things, but the most important one is his A-B-Cs. He is eager to demonstrate his knowledge at every opportunity, and his Granddad is not loath to listen. What gives us more pride than the accomplishments of those we love?

He came to me a few days ago with his spirit cast down and his lower lip nearly dragging the ground. What’s the matter? I asked.

Oh, Granddad, he said. What am I to do? My best friend has betrayed me, and will not be my best friend much longer. What am I to do?

Go talk to Grandma, I advised. She has the most winning spirit of anyone. She gives sound council, and if you will follow her advice, your friend and you shall see many more days of harmony.

But Granddad, I have already spoken to her. She asked me to talk to you.

Go to your friend, explain your heavy heart, plead that what has passed may be overlooked, and that you may be reconciled, and all will be well, I advised.

Granddad, he responded, don’t you know that that would be really hard to do?

Yes, I’m sure of it, I continued. Try to talk to your friend, but if all else fails, we still may speak with our Father in Heaven, and He who knows all things will surely do what He considers to be the right thing.

That young boy left full of sorrow, but with a glimmer of hope.

Not long after this, I took a short walk in the garden to quiet my spirit. How often we need to take the mending of fences to the Father for His good judgment. I had not walked far when I found my Grandson kneeling by a bush, busily quoting his alphabet. He had his hands folded, his head bowed, and his eyes closed. It was obvious that he was in prayer. After his closing Amen, I enquired from him exactly what had been his activity.

Oh, Granddad, he said. I don’t know how to pray very well, so I just give God the letters. He may put them together the way they make the best prayer. He usually does really well.

The Apostle Paul told the Romans something like that!

Do We Wash The Lid?

Philippians 4:8

Whenever the Daughter of Francesca and her family chance to be with us for a meal, the Daughter of the Daughter of Francesca and I wash the dishes afterward. As a usual thing, it is I who wash off the remains of the meal, rinsing away the suds with hot water. She uses the drying towel to finish the job. Of course, Francesca comes later to put the clean things in the places where she has determined, long ago, that they belong. She has the fear that, if this fails to be done, there will be a time in the future when it is her intention to use a particular utensil and that instrument will be hidden where she, Francesca, would never think to place it. This has happened in the recent past.

Now it came to pass this way: One evening, as the two of us, who were to work in the scullery, contemplated the pleasures of Fellowship in the Presence of Dishwater, the young lass enquired if, perchance, she might play in the sudsy, foamy, lovely water as the dishes made their way along in the process of being cleansed. This would leave her Granddad the chore of rinsing and drying after the major task reached its completion. Of course, this was fine with the one who was to dry.

What do I wash first, Granddad? she asked.

Well, Honey, I answered, the glassware is probably the least dirty, so let’s wash it first. I usually wash the flatware next, and follow that with the china. This leaves the pots and pans, the dirtiest things, to the last. Now, you do as you wish. You’re the boss!

I think that you have figured it out best, Granddad, she said, and began with the drinking glasses. After we two had completed the glassware, the flatware, and the china, we were faced with the pots and pans.

She placed a pot in the water, washed the part which had contained the food, and then, looking at me with eyes that would melt the hardest heart, queried, Must I wash the lid? It has only rested on top of the boiling cabbage. I’m sure it has not become dirty. Steam has long been used to clean things.

Well, let me think, responded the wise adult. After a little contemplation, I took the lid and made the enquiry, With what do you smell?

With my nose, Silly, laughed the cheery eyed lass.

Bring your nose, and follow me, I ordered.

We thus left the kitchen, away from cooking smells, and, holding the lid near to the child’s lovely nose, I asked, What do you smell?

Cabbage! was her response.

Of course, I said. The lid may not be dirty, but we need to remove the smell of cabbage. The next time that lid is used, the flavor of cabbage may ruin the food that is cooked within the pot over which that selfsame lid rests.

That sounds like a good idea to me, said the blond angel.

We went back to the sudsy, foamy, lovely water, and the damsel washed the lid.

As we finished, I remarked to her, Your life—and, indeed, my life as well—is somewhat like the lid for the cabbage. We may be doing or thinking fairly good things, but the ‘smell’ of that activity will be with us the rest of our lives. If that thought or activity doesn’t ‘smell good’, it will stink up our lives just like good things we do will make our lives have a ‘pleasant odor’. You just be very careful what kind of ‘smells’ are associated with your beautiful life.

And, as she hugged my neck and kissed me upon both of my cheeks, I observed that she smells really good.

A Living Wage

Deuteronomy 8:1–3

When I was a boy, the school I attended was the old-fashioned and well documented One-Teacher-One-Room Schoolhouse. Our teacher, as I made my way from first to sixth grade, drove from the nearby town each day, taught the lessons, and returned to her home each evening. The teacher when I became a student in the seventh grade, however, needed a place to room and board and made arrangements to live with my parents, since our home was within 150 yards of the school. My youngest Sister was only a few years younger than this teacher, so they got along well, double-dated together, and became best friends.

I became aware of the rooming arrangement when my bedroom was being newly wallpapered, painted, and furnished with an old, but reconditioned, dresser—with a mirror. I was told that my room was to be the school teacher’s room and that I would be sleeping in another, less desirable room. This news caused a crash in my starry-eyed expectation. I had already—in my mind—placed my bed in the room, hung my clothes at the corner of the room behind the new curtain where hooks had been placed, and begun to call this room my own.

My disappointment was alleviated, however, upon the arrival of the roomer. She was beautiful! She exuded glamour! She was living in our house, and was present at our table each morning and evening! I would have lived in a clothes closet—if we had had one.

As the first day of school drew near, she asked if she was responsible for carrying the water to the school. There was not a water-well on the schoolyard, and the only water available was carried from our well in a 14-quart bucket and was used to drink, wash hands, and scrub the floor if that was ever needed. We had a handy dipper which was kept near the bucket of water, and was used as a drinking receptacle for every one of our fifteen to twenty students and the teacher. She was wishing there were some way that the water might be provided, and so I offered to carry it for her. This was not because she could not have done it herself, but she was so pretty and so wonderful. How could I do otherwise.

How much would you require in payment for carrying water to the schoolhouse each day? she asked.

Oh, I don’t know. Two cents a day, I said.

A bargain was struck, and I received a grand total of $3.60 for the 180 days when school was in session that year.

There were times, during the hottest part of the school year, when two buckets of water were necessary, but the agreed-to bargain was for two cents a day, and two cents a day was the wage.

I didn’t get rich. I kept the money in a dime bank which was shaped like a soft drink bottle, and resided on the surface of my not-so-desirable dresser—without a mirror. However, there are wages for the soul when we do things for others, wages which cannot be measured by the bank statement.

And, what’s more, she taught me during my eighth grade, too, and I made another $3.60.

What Do You Have To Do?

Acts 2:36–39

The Daughter of the Daughter of Francesca is the editor of the paper for her school room. She may have been chosen by lot, she may have been appointed by her teacher, or she may have been duly elected by her peers; I know not which, but she is the editor.

The paper is issued twice a year, so this means that, near the end of each semester, she must gather her Reporters, her Managers, and her Ad Salesmen to put the paper to bed. She employs no linotype operators, no skilled typesetters, and no professional artists, but the pages of news are carefully written with ball point pen, and cartoons are placed with care in any left-over space.

She obtained permission to hold the final copying of the first semester news in the dining room of her Grandparents, where there is a great deal of unused room, and where there are refreshments at hand most of the time. Her Grandmother loves to bake Christmas cookies to share with neighbors and friends. This gives the house a lovely smell, and provides a ready supply of needed after-school energy. This arrangement also allows her Granddad a chance to listen in on the serious conversations which determine what is written in this News Bulletin.

I need to write, ‘The fourth grade will haft to go to the junior high school basketball game together’, said one of the reporters. How do you spell haft?

That’s no word, responded another.

"It is too! Just look it up