What Kind Of Mileage Didja Get?

This Saturday, my grandfather will celebrate his 100^th birthday.  One hundred years on this earth – learning, growing, teaching, laughing, crying, living – making it a better place every step of the way.  One hundred years of doing his job as a big-hearted, loving human being.

He probably doesn’t see it that way.  His JOB, he would tell you, was to put his whole self into the hard labor that would provide the money to support his family.  If one paycheck wasn’t enough, he’d get another.  WORK is what makes a man.  Hard work puts food on a table and a roof over your head.  Hard work makes you strong and brings respect.  Hard work is the most important thing.  His job as a father, he would tell you, was to be the rigid authoritarian leader who prepared his children and grandchildren for the hard work that awaits them.  That’s the box that he put himself in and that’s his point of view.

I couldn’t disagree with him more.  That’s not what his century has been about.  Certainly, 1913 was a time of hard work.  He was born into a farm family, doing back-breaking work from the moment he could walk.   He had to leave school early (family history is hazy, but sometime around 6^th grade) because his father was sick and someone had to step up and do the work.  He worked and worked and worked, because that’s what needed to be done and, as the oldest boy, his mother and 8 siblings were counting on him.  Work came before everything else and, in his view; a fair day’s work for a fair day’s pay is the most success he’s ever had.  But he’s wrong about that.

My grandfather has always been a humble man.  Humility is a virtue, to be sure, but he’s never given himself credit for the REAL work he’s done.  His 100 years have definitely been about hard work.  There’s no denying that.  But even more than that, his 100 years have been about Love.  First and foremost, even though he’d never admit it, Love has been front and center and the Love has always been bigger than the Work.

The hard work he did as a boy was an expression of love and loyalty to his parents and his younger brothers and sisters.  Into adulthood, even with his own growing family, he continued to keep those siblings under his wings and make sure they were OK.  As long as he was still able to drive himself, he met his brother weekly for coffee for a check-in.  Now, he needs people to care for him but he still has one little sister left and my personal belief is that he will not depart this earth until he’s seen her properly to the gate.  I may be wrong about that, but he’s never walked away from a responsibility or commitment before and I doubt he’ll start now.

As a young man, he fell under the spell of his future bride at a barn dance and he worked, worked, worked to earn her heart.  Then he worked, worked, worked to provide for her and the family they created together.  By example – and by expectation – he taught those children how to work hard, too.

When I think of my grandfather and conjure his image in my mind, he is a giant man in dark blue work pants, steel toed work shoes and a collared shirt because this is the uniform of his life.  But I also see the crinkle at the corner of his eyes, and the sparkle that lives behind them.  I see the slight upturn at the corner of his mouth that is always there.  Because those things show the whole picture.  He believes in the importance of Hard Work and is proud of his lifetime of labor.  What he’ll never admit to is that he should be more proud of his Heart Work.

As a typical Midwestern blue collar man of his era, he does not easily express his feelings in words or say “I love you”.  But he says it in so many other ways.  When a giant, calloused hand reaches across the couch cushion to tickle a baby’s foot, he’s said it.  When he teaches a grandson how to make his special summer sausage, he’s said it. When, after a long day helping him cut grass, he lets you sit on a bar stool at the tavern and order a sodie, he’s said it.  When his granddaughter (me) asks him to walk her down the aisle and he gets cortisone shots in his hard-work-damaged knees to make sure he’ll be able to, he’s said it.  And when he’s asking questions that seem mundane and impersonal, believe it or not, what he’s really doing is saying “I love you”.

Because he didn’t get the education he’d have liked, he never gave himself credit for his own intelligence.  He could work numbers at lightning speed in his head and had brilliant ideas to make work easier – not just for himself, but for others.   Numbers have meaning to him and they represent something tangible.

Over the years, all of his children and grandchildren have been subjected to the inquisition during every visit.  When he asks about your job, he’s not asking if you’re happy or fulfilled.  He’s asking how much you get paid.  If you rattle off an annual salary, he will calculate that down to an hourly rate in the blink of an eye.  Because that’s important to him and gives him a measure of your work.  After every long car trip, as soon as the hellos and handshakes are out of the way, Grandpa will inevitably ask “What kind of mileage did you get?”  Because that matters and you’d better be prepared with an answer.  We never started a trip home without making note of our odometer reading because we knew we’d have to calculate our gas mileage before we pulled in the driveway.

It’s become a bit of a family joke among my siblings.  We greet each other with big hugs and “What kind of mileage didja get, eh?” in our best Grandpa voice and we know that it means “I love you and I’m happy to see you.” because we understand that’s what he was saying to us all along.

My grandfather was an engine guy.  He liked cars and cared about how they operated.  He taught us all to take care of them and they’d take care of us.  Meanwhile, quietly through his actions, he taught us to take care of people and people would take care of us.  He taught us to never let the gas tank get too low or we’d be stranded.  Meanwhile, he taught us to work and save so we’d be able to keep moving forward.  So yes, he cared about fuel efficiency and he was genuinely curious when he asked about our gas mileage, but I think we all know he was really asking us if we were making the most out of what we have.  “What kind of mileage do you get?” is just another way of saying “I love you and I want you to go as far as you can in life.”

Now, at the end of his century, my big strong grandfather’s engine is wearing down.   All that hard work takes its toll and he’s not likely to ask me about all of my important numbers again.  So let me tell you about his important numbers instead:

• 100 years
• 1 love of his life
• 70 years of marriage
• 7 hardworking, intelligent, caring, generous children
• 39 grandchildren  (also pretty fabulous, if I do say so myself)
• More than 70 (lost count ages ago) great grandchildren
• Countless friends and strangers helped by his generosity

This weekend, when we all gather to celebrate his birthday, we will also be celebrating his successes.  Though he doesn’t see it that way, his Heart Work far outweighs his Hard Work and his engine brought him amazingly far on that tank of gas. 

We all have those times when we feel the need to measure our position in this life.  I hope I will always do as my grandfather and try to get as far as I can with what I have and at the end of the day, instead of asking myself what I achieved, I will remember to ask “What kind of mileage didja get, eh?”