Grandfather’s Barbershop

My mother and I lived with my father’s parents in a village in northern Ohio. I was the “substitute son” that replaced their only son who had died at the age of 28 with tuberculosis. Grandfather was a barber, and I remember vividly those days where I would sit in his shop and listen to the stories he would tell. He would lighten up with a twinkle in his eye as he related some event of the past to the trapped customer in the chair. There were smells of tonic in the shop, bottles of strange liquids everywhere on the shelf, all of different shapes and sizes. The awkward looking mechanical drinking bird that would periodically dip its beak in the water particularly fascinated me. To this day I don’t know exactly how it worked.

Grandfather’s stories were never the same each time they were told. An additional flourish or twist would be added for the entertainment of the unsuspecting victim in the chair. I can not remember any of the stories—I just remember the joy that Grandfather showed as he spoke. It was his day—it was his life. He was a gentle, quiet man who seemed to have no other life other than that which occurred within the shop. We worked together as I learned to wash the windows, sweep the floor, run errands and assume responsibilities. He would work long hours, coming home for lunch and dinner but returning to work in the evening. This schedule was maintained until he was in his late 70s.

I recall sitting there and wondering if that was to be my future as well. It caused me to think about the purpose of life, why we were here on this earth, and what mark we would make upon those around us. It was not Grandfather’s intent to cause these thoughts. He had dreams of my taking over his shop when he retired. I think I broke his heart when I turned down the offer and went to college.

I never heard him speak an unkind word or utter any profanity. He was patient even during those times when he taught me to drive the car. This left an indelible mark on my spirit. There is a passage in Proverbs 12:14b, which says, “the deeds of a man’s hands will return to him”. My hope is that Grandfather gained some measure of personal satisfaction by helping his “substitute son” who went on to find Christ later in life. He helped me manage the financial expense of the college classes, and he always offered me encouragement right up until his death. Here indeed was a man who found purpose in giving to others.

In today’s world our lives are so different from those of the past. The challenges of retirement are many. It can be the busiest time—even too busy. But I have the life of Christ to guide me. Perhaps we spend too much time thinking about what way we might have influenced our children or what they will remember that will change their life. I can only pray that I have had more to offer than just some entertaining stories. The important point is that I feel that my Grandfather would be with me in my ventures, and he would approve of my life dedicated to Christ. Could it be that my children will also find Jesus along with them in the same way?

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