18 Memorable Things
Grandpa Dan Would Say to Me
© 2013 By Wayne Dan
Lewis, Sr.
In just about everything I’ve written, I have mentioned
Grandpa Dan. Well, he wasn’t my grandpa,
he was my children’s grandpa. To me, he
was Pops. Before he and Aunt Sarah
adopted me, he was Uncle Dan, and she became Modea. It was what we (Grandma Sarah/Modea/Aunt
Sarah and me) agreed to call him because he wasn’t my father by birth. And, out of respect for my real daddy,
whomever he may have been, it would not have been fair to refer to him as
Daddy. Other than that, Grandpa Dan, or
Pops, was my daddy, no question about it.
- “Did you brush
your teeth? If you did, you didn’t
do a good job. Go back in that
bathroom and brush your teeth right!”
- “Where is your belt for those
pants? You know you don’t wear
those pants without a belt”
- “Go back and
comb and brush your hair. You’re
not going out here lookin’ like that!”
- “It’s time you
start washing the dishes. You eat
don’t you?”
He seemed to have relished the role of being my father, and
I relished the privilege of having someone to call him my father. There were tough times as father and son that
we faced. We both had to get our roles
in sync. After all, for the first 6
years of my life, I was without real guidance.
And although I lived with Uncle Dan and Aunt Sarah for three years
before being adopted, it was tentative, and at any moment I knew that I could
be sent back home to my mother in Patterson, something I was often asked
(sometimes threatened), if I wanted it to happen. I often said no, because I remembered a lot
of time not knowing where my mother was, or eating at people’s homes just
because I happened to be there.
The point that I want to make here is that among the many
memories that I cherish about his dedication to being my father, are the many
things that he told me, sometimes over and over again, but I eventually got the
message on how to behave. I eventually
got the message that people didn’t like for you to talk too much, or to always
be hanging on them or, to spread the
family business to others, even to other family members.
I am reminded of those special times with Grandpa Dan as I
look at many of our young boys on the streets today. From New Orleans ,
to Dallas , to Washington D. C., I see a trend among our young men that
says “This is who I am.” I see a trend
that says, “You can’t tell me what to do. I’m a man.” And to that end, the father that Grandpa Dan
was to me wants to come out. Why? Because I see young men who have decided that
as good as they are at so many of the great things that they can do in their
lives, wearing their pants below their butts, showing their underwear, is the
measure of who they are. I disagree more
with their attitudes than their fashion statement. I see these young men, and I can only imagine
how Grandpa Dan saw me whenever he would boom out one of his corrective orders,
such as:
“Boy, get
out that bed and get ready for school!”
I am reminded of how Grandpa Dan, a very stern figure in my
life, would have made it clear to me that he would not have a son of his
carrying himself in such a manner, wearing his pants below his butt. I am reminded of his deep, bass voice
shooting out of a quiet moment, catching me off guard, sometimes scaring me
because I had been caught being less than the young man he was trying to make
out of me. I resisted his attempts while
growing up, because I wanted to be my own man (barely man, myself) without
guidance, without people telling me what to do.
But there were times when there were those talks. Call them father/son talks, or just “those
talks”, if you will. The talks happened
at some of the most unpredictable times.
Those talks would last for hours, seemingly. They didn’t necessarily happen because I had
done something wrong. They happened out
of the blue. They were not the kind of talks
that involved shouting back and forth, or me trying to tune him out. They were the talks that upon occasion caught
me off guar. He wasn’t trying to force
me to be like him. As a matter of fact,
he was trying to make sure that I didn’t end up like him. Why not like Grandpa Dan?
Grandpa Dan was a high school drop out. While he wasn’t fond of that fact, I say it
with pride. During their marriage, they
owned 4 homes, and 6 or 7 cars. And,
they invested their money in real estate.
For his age and size coming up, he was working many jobs that grown men
didn’t want, or couldn’t handle. Only on
a few occasions had he spoke of the regrets that he had not finish school
himself. I know how disappointed he must
have been in me when I got kept back in 8th grade. It had to have been déjà vue for him. He and Grandma Sarah would work very hard to
get me into Summer School the year I got kept back to make sure that I got back
on track, because I was already behind when I started kindergarten at 6 years
old. So, there was no way they were
going to let me fail at that time in my life.
When I look at the young men of today with their pants worn
extremely low, I wonder, where is their “Uncle Dan” in their lives? I wonder, do they have a “Pops” in their
family? Uncle Dan, (and Aunt Sarah) were
remarkable people, and I thank God for the sacrifices they made for me in their
lives. But I focus on Uncle Dan in this
piece because, he was not related to me,
except by marriage. But he took on his
role as father with one of the most remarkable fatherly tools God could have
given him: his voice. It boomed! It thundered! And it struck fear
in me, and many of my friends, too. When
he was upset with me, it did more damage than any whipping, which I received a
number of, by the way. It was the short
bursts of correctives that made me realize that I had to straighten up my act,
or there were going to be consequences.
When I look at our young men today, I wish for them, that there
was at least an Uncle Dan to take them by the arm, or pull them up by their
pants, and let them know that they are better that their presentation. I wish that there was a Pops for them, or a
Grandpa Dan to remind them that their dreams are being hampered by the manner
in which they presented themselves. I
wish that there was someone to tell them:
“Boy, pull your pants up!” I
wish there was someone to convey to them a message that it is not about being
scolded, but about having someone care enough about you to try to help you make
something better of yourself. I often
wish that I could embody Grandpa Dan, with the sternness of his voice, and the
compassion of the father that he was to me.
Just once, I would love to be able to tell these young men of today:
“Don’t ever let me catch you with your pants down again, or it’ll be me and
you!” And the expectation would be that
they would pull up their pants, give me a sheepish grin, apologizing, and going
on to be the good kids that we all know that they are.
- “You’re not
going anywhere until you clean that room.
Pick up those clothes and go wash ‘em. Right now!”
- “Get a rag and
brush and go clean that bathroom.
That means the sink, tub and toilet. And mop that floor, too. You can use it, you can clean it.”
- “You didn’t do
your homework that quick. Go back
in that room and study some more.”
- “What do you
mean you don’t have no homework?
Get in your room and study something!”
My only hope would be that if I could tell these young men
of today, to just pull up their pants, that they would not be offended, but
encouraged because someone took the time to care; that someone saw something in
them that makes them truly special, and that they don’t have to be defined by how low they wear their
pants, but how high they carried their heads.
Grandpa Dan would not just blast them with that deep bass voice all the
time, instead, he would also take them on the side, the way he had done with me
through the years, and spend those countless hours pointing out what they could
do to better their lives.
In looking at today’s young men with their pants barely
covering their bottoms, I would gladly swap
with them one of those times that I shared with Grandpa Dan, because there
seemed to have been a lot of them. Not
the ones that I wanted however, but perhaps the ones that I needed, because I
was probably back then the way so many of our young men are today. I would allow anyone of our young men of
today, to go back in time on my behalf and sit on a stool in the single-car garage
at the back our house on St.
Maurice Ave. in the 9th Ward. I would gladly and lovingly, allow one young
man to go back in time, and ride along with a great man in a 1967 Blue
Chevrolet pick up truck, on the way to or from Schweggmann’s, and listen as he
tell them about how to talk to people, how to talk to your mother, or how to
listen when people were trying to tell you something. If they could go back in
time, I would warn them about his deep bass voice, but I would also prepare
them for the messages of motivation. For
it was that voice for whom many of my friends shuttered, because he spoke like
thunder. He spoke like an
earthquake. Grandpa Dan didn’t play.
- Be home by dark
if you know what’s good for you.”
- “
- “Get ready for
Sunday School. That bus is going to
pick you up around 8:30 in the morning. Polish your shoes and iron your
shirt.”
- “Don’t get in a
car with people you don’t know.”
But as stern as Grandpa Dan was, he was also gentle. He was also helpful, to everyone. He gave his time to his family, and to those
in need. I saw this in some of the
simplest things that he did. Little did
I know, that he was teaching me how to give to others. Something as simple as cutting our neighbors
grass, and not charging them was a untaught but valuable lesson. Eventually, the neighbor started cutting our
grass in return. Something as simple as
taking in their garbage cans after the garbage had been picked up, soon, they
did the same thing for us. My parents would
give out vegetables from our garden to our neighbors, and they would find a way
to return the kindness as well. I
benefited most, because I got good Christmas presents.
Grandpa Dan spent a number of hours talking to me. I guess now because I would wear him out on
those whippings. (LOL, people). But I
think he also realized that there was something special about me that he would
spend what would look like hours, and hours just talking to me about how I
needed to behave, and conduct myself in public.
I would gladly allow our young men of today to have just one of those
hours if it would open their eyes to who they are, and how special they are as
well.
- “
- “Boy, stop all
that monkeyshine, and sit down somewhere!”
- “Boy, don’t let nobody push you around,
you here me?”
- “Boy, move like you got some life in you.
Pick up your feet when you walk.”
When I think back about that deep base voice, I remember
when it was at its softest, if that was possible. He had come home late from work one night
(Longshoreman), and he had put something in a box next to my bed. It woke me up with its yelping. It was my first pet, a beautiful, yellowish
and white dog. It didn’t matter what it
was, it was my first pet, and he told me I could have it. It was the softest his voice I could
remember. But he surprised me with it,
and helped me to learn how to take care of it. Note however, I don’t offer to swap that moment with
anyone. It was a moment I will always
treasure, my first pet.
- “What, you too cute to speak? Speak to
people when you come in the room.
What’s wrong with you?”
- “What, you think you a man now? If you think you so much a man, get out
there get yourself a job!”
Today, I ask that if you are so blessed as I was coming up, to
have a young man in your life who is wearing his pants down, or who seem like
they can’t find their way in the community, don’t worry about telling him to
pull his pants up. Don’t even focus on
the negative behavior. Just let him know
how special he is. If he doesn’t respond
the first time, just keep telling him, every chance you get. I venture to say that eventually, you won’t
have to tell that young man to pull up his pants, he’ll do it on his own. Perhaps Grandpa Dan would have told me to
pull up my pants a hundred times, but it would have made the most impact on me
that he spent so much time trying to drill into me the importance of who I was. No, he never told me that he loved me, but he
didn’t have to. He showed me, and that
was good enough for me.
Perhaps I’ll never be as powerful as Grandpa Dan. I don’t have that deep voice. But I believe that we all share something
that Grandpa Dan tried to keep hidden.
It was his heart. Yes, he was
very strict, but he had a mission. I
would like to think that his mission was accomplished. I want to also believe that there are still
a lot of Grandpa Dan’s out here. You
know the ones. The ones who take the time to correct a loved one, or a family
member, even if it means back-talk, or an attitude. Perhaps there is a Grandpa Dan in many of us,
who don’t care how a young person reacts to being corrected. We are going to tell them right from wrong,
because we hate to see a young person on the wrong track in life. Perhaps too, there is a Grandma Sarah, an
Aunt Polly, an Aunt Elouise, an Uncle Frank, or an Uncle Anderson. These were some of the men and women who, as
I look back, did not care then whether I, nor any other of us in the family
would react against being corrected.
They scolded us, whipped us, and talked to us. They wanted us to make something of
ourselves, because they saw something in us that we couldn’t possibly see in
ourselves. And although those great men
and women of my time didn’t have a lot education, they knew the importance of
education, and making sure that we carried ourselves with dignity, and
pride. How about you? Are you this generation’s Grandpa Dan?
Rest in Peace, Grandpa Dan (Dan Lewis, 1904-1997)
Dance with Father by Luther Vandross
Disclaimer: Information provided here is deemed to be
from reliable sources, but not guaranteed.
Please consult with your respective professionals before making any
important decisions.
Reading about your Grandpa Dan and his influence on your life and others is inspiring. Sometimes we forget the power of words and there influence on a person’s behavior. Even though Grandpa Dan did not graduate from high school, he innately used the power of words to influence your thoughts, speech, and actions. My hope is more men like Grandpa Dan will show youth how to find their unique gifts and talents.
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