I Know It
I was told that as a youngster, my dad’s sister Gayle would answer “I know” (or maybe it was “I know it”) to anything her father or mother tried to tell her. While I don’t remember verbalizing those words as my parents or grandparents would try to teach me something, I certainly had them in the forefront of my mind. I distinctly remember believing I was being annoyed, and wanted my “mentor” to just leave me alone. Youthful arrogance? I had it in abundance.
As a half-centurion, I look back now and wish I had been a more grateful recipient of what I now know was good advice. I can honestly say I WAS listening to what was being directed my way; if not, how can I remember so much of it many years later? So at least I wasn’t completely tuning out the good intentions of what I considered the “geezers” trying to share their wisdom with me. In most cases, the “geezers” were my father, but especially my grandfather. My problem was thinking they had NO IDEA what it was they were talking about because they came from another era.
I don’t know the exact date my thinking began to change about this topic. I do know that by the time I was in my late twenties, I began to realize Dad and Pops (my grandfather) might actually know what they were talking about. Now at fifty, I know their combined knowledge will forever dwarf whatever I might learn about this profession called funeral service.
One of the first things my dad told me was to never run while working a funeral. I thought this was crazy! Why? I HAD to run to get everything done! Wrong. Now if I see one of our folks running in the parking lot or at the cemetery, I know what he was talking about. Of course my gentle reminder not to run probably has whoever I admonished believing that now I am the “geezer”! Another point Pops was big on: when closing the casket in the chapel, place your knee against the casket as you crank it shut so it doesn’t bounce around. I thought this looked pretty stupid at the time, but now I do it whenever closing a sealer casket. And Dad disdained saying things were “OK”; was it because it sounded too much like “Oakey”?! He preferred “alright”, and I do now as well.
Both Dad and Pops have long gone to Heaven now, and I often wish I could tell them how much I appreciate their patience in trying to show me the proper way to do things in our organization. I would certainly give anything just to know they approve of my job performance and that they truly believe I’m doing OK. Uh, I mean alright.
