Personal Narrative-Male Bonding
Years later, my father started his own home building and remodeling company. If Dad had a sufficient backlog of work, he hired his own father to assist him; and when each of his sons reached the age of fifteen, he employed us during our breaks from school. By the time Dad engaged my services in the trade, Grandpa’s declining physical capabilities significantly limited his possible work assignments. Although he couldn’t climb or handle heavy lifting, by using a light and compact circular saw, Grandpa could still cut shiplap boards. Frequently, I worked with Grandpa sheathing floors and walls. While laboring at these tasks, I carried the lumber, he measured and cut the boards, and I nailed them in place.
Even though Grandpa …show more content…
With feelings of loss and affection, I rushed home. As one of his pallbearers, I solemnly carried the aged soldier, my compassionate grandfather, and a work colleague, to his resting place.
After serving in the Great War, Elmer Lofgren returned to a peaceful agrarian life on the family farm. He married Ida and they raised two sons, Myron and Lyle. By the late 1960s, Elmer and Ida, advanced in years and their nest empty, continued to reside on the farm. They hadn’t modernized their farmhouse and lived in much the same fashion as they had decades earlier. Wishing to ease the hardship of advanced years with a convenient inside bathroom, Myron and Lyle hired my father to remodel their parents’ house.
Elmer, not particularly pleased with the arrangements, voiced his dissatisfaction by declaring, “It’s unsanitary going to the bathroom in the house!”
When my father came home, clearly amused, he shared with us Elmer’s reaction to the indoor bathroom. I envisioned that the elderly man expressed his position in a deep booming voice with genuine conviction and an authoritative air. After a moment to ponder the statement, I felt as if Elmer conveyed the truth and the rest of us had something to learn from his straightforward …show more content…
As I rolled down the car window, Ida came out of the house, dressed to depart with Elin. Ida abruptly halted when she noticed us and I overheard her say, “Clara has come to visit.” Subsequently, she turned to Elin and, while emphasizing the urgency with her hands, articulated the directive, “You go now, without me.” As Elin drove away, Ida welcomed us into her kitchen. The pungent odor of smoke and a blurring haze filled the poorly lit room, as intense heat radiated from a cast iron stove. The kitchen fixtures and painted cupboards embodied an earlier time and years of burning wood had muted their colors into shades of gray. Consequently, I had the sensation of walking back in time and into one of the images of Grandpa and Grandma’s farm, which Grandma captured with photography before the Great