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One Sunday morning my wife and I decided to try the breakfast at “The Island,” which used to be "Crusty's," a locals joint which was sold to new owners and has since been renovated and reopened. Raunchy no more, the decor was bright and wholesome with images of palm trees fashioned into the floor. We got a window seat with a breathtaking panorama of the blue Atlantic Ocean. Waves gently rolled in while children played in the surf and their parents lay on towels, soaking up the sun. An old man and his grandson surf-fished on the beach. I watched as the grandfather vigorously reeled in a catch. At one point he traded poles with the boy, who seemed to be no more than five years old. After the boy landed the fish, the grandfather touched the boy's shoulder, released the fish and threw it back into the ocean. Seeing this reminded me that I didn’t get to spend much time with either of my grandfathers. My grandfather (on my mother's side) was a foreman at an open-pit copper mine in Nevada. In 1954, when I was nine, my family, which included five children at the time, piled into our 1951 Mercury and drove from Missouri to Nevada for one of our rare visits. Ely was a small Mormon town. Back then none of the streets were paved and the main street looked exactly like a town out of a western movie, with it’s wooden porches and swinging doors. A Cub Scout coin collector, I was impressed that everyone in Ely spent silver dollars. The first morning, my grandfather gave me a bowl of oatmeal. “Eat up,” he said, flexing his bicep. “It’ll give you muskel.” As I ate the tasteless porridge, he told me this story: "I’m a righteous man today because of your mother. When she was a baby, we lived in a cabin in the country. We had no car, and we had to walk everywhere. Back then I drank alcohol. There was an awful winter night, three feet of snow had piled up and I had too much to drink. I reached for my glass and knocked the iron off the ironing board, and it fell on little Beatrice, who was crawling on the floor. I left the house to find a doctor and before long, I was lost. I knew that if I didn’t find my way, I would die and your momma would die. I cried and prayed to the Lord to help me. I told Him that if He would help me save little Beatrice, I would dedicate the rest of my life to the work of God. I pressed on and found the doctor. We got your momma fixed up, she grew up to be a beautiful woman, and I have dedicated my life to the Lord ever since." Afterwards, Grandpa took Mom and me to see the mine. We got out of the car, and I followed them to the edge of a panorama that took my breath away. We stood before a man-made canyon that was about a mile across. Huge earthmovers several hundred feet below us, almost too small to see, were busy scooping and loading dirt. I didn't want to join them on the edge of the precipice. There was no railing. What if we fell off? What if the earth gave way beneath us? Finally, I went to them and they held my hands. My entire body shook with fear. Sunday the family went to services in one of the two Mormon churches. These were the largest buildings in town, constructed in the architecture of the early pioneers. It seemed as if the whole community showed up for Sunday School. In Missouri, our church services never had more than 20 people. Here, the authority of the church was pervasive, palpable. Mom was the eighth of sixteen children, and three of my aunts were still living at home. The youngest, Janey, two years older than I, was bigger, stronger and wiser. One morning, she and I were playing in the living room. Our contest reached a physical stage and she grabbed me from behind. I turned hard to free myself and she fell to the floor. In one motion, my grandmother leaned forward, lifted her massive weight out of her chair and slapped me as hard as she could across my face. “You don’t shove girls,” she said with a frown, and fell back into her chair. I was on the floor, the left side of my face hot and stinging. Surprised and stunned, I struggled to keep from crying. "We were just playing. I didn't hurt her," I said. She gave me a cold look. She didn't appreciate this challenge to her authority. "I don't care. Don't ever do it again." I turned my head towards the living room window, a blaze of white light. I turned so I wouldn't have to look at Grandma's face, and I didn't look at her again during that visit. When the family left, I didn't say goodbye to her, and we never returned to Ely. I never saw my grandmother again, and I never again thought of her with affection. It was as if a small flame in my boy-heart had been blown out by a winter wind, extinguished forever.
Article Source: http://www.articledestination.com
Dennis E. Coates is CEO of Performance Support Systems, author of MindFrames, a brain-based personality assessment system (www.initforlife.com) and co-founder of the Train-to-Ingrain alliance (www.train-to-ingrain.com, info@train-to-ingrain.com, 800-488-6463), which delivers a reinforcement-centered approach to learning and development that achieves permanent, measurable improvements in workplace behavior and positive impacts on business results.
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