Let's talk about Grandpa

I wanted to write an article about the absurdity of thinking the problem with lack of belief in the real presence being receiving Holy Communion in the hand being an absurdity (I’d say the real problem is sample bias and materialism, and, FYI, I prefer to receive on the tongue). 

But, I was thinking about my grandpa.  Now, Grandpa was not always a saint.  He had his problems.  He was, however, a three war veteran, a hard working man, and, most importantly, my grandpa. 

Now, I’ll skip some of what I found out about him (like my mom finding out she has a sister that knew about her, but she didn’t know about her, okay, I’ll tell you that.  Now, if I can only figure out why my dad has so much family in Belarus, Ukraine, and Russia, DNA is fun, yeah, I’d understand on my mom’s side).  

But my grandfather, as I knew him, was usually a very quiet man.  Grandpa was bipolar, but there’s a very good chance that he didn’t know about that.  (For those curious, bipolar type II).  So I had seen him lose his temper, before. 

But, usually, he was very quiet.  And, for the record, I think he made good with God before he died.  I have a reason for believing this, but I’m going to probably take that to my grave. 

Anyway, after my dad died, my uncle became kind of my father figure.

And then he ended his own life in 2000. 

(I fully acknowledge I’ve had a hard life).

And then my grandpa became the closest thing I had to a father for the rest of his life.

“Charlie, don’t you have a stepdad”?

Why yes, yes I do!  And I don’t get along with him, but, because I’m not a monster, there are two times I’ve legitimately felt badly for him, when his dad died when I was a teenager, and when his mom died in the last few years. 

I liked his mom, and will even refer to her as my grandma.  She was such a grandma, too!  She sewed, she knitted, and was very good at being an intermediary during intra-family feuds. 

Back to my grandpa.  Other than constantly mispronouncing my name (for the record, it’s Huhv-ee, short o, not long o, as my Aunt Kathy said, “Lovey dovey Hovey”), my grandpa taught me a lot of basic facts about life. 

He taught me how to get a job, the right people to talk to, and how to answer the questions I may be asked to try to get a job.

Interestingly, Grandpa was the only person I know that was ever baptized Salvation Army. 

“Salvation Army, isn’t that a thrift store”?

Yes, it’s also kinda sorta a Protestant denomination (kinda because they don’t baptize).

But, see, they did.  Where was my grandpa baptized Salvation Army?

In the Army.

If you’re wondering HOW he was baptized Salvation Army, it’s because they USED to baptize.  And yes, it’s with water and a Trinitarian formula, so it’s a valid baptism. 

Which begs another question, since diocesan lists of valid and invalid baptisms generally list Salvation Army as invalid because they don’t baptize.  But they did, and when they did, those baptisms seem to be valid, so…(here’s a list from the Archdiocese of Los Angeles,Archdiocese of Los Angeles- Office of Divine Worship- Valid -Invalid Baptism)

Some might say, “wasn’t his mom Catholic”?  Yes, and my grandpa went to Catholic school on the southside of Chicago.  And, because I’ll use any excuse to share my taste of music (Southtown)

However, my great grandmother was an adult convert to Catholicism.

But, I am not here to talk about my grandpa’s family history.  Only to thank my grandfather, for helping me make me who I am.

Thank you, Grandpa.  (Foo Fighters - My Hero)

 “The hoary head is a crown of glory, if it be found in the way of righteousness”-Proverbs 16:31 (King James Version, for the sole reason it has the word “hoary”, Hoary)

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