Over the last few years, one gift I look forward to receiving is from my Mom. Each year she goes through the items remaining in her keep, left from her Dad.

He and I were extremely close. I was born the day his Father died. I loved the farm and all things related. (Except snakes.) Every opportunity that presented itself for me to go and work with him, or to stay with them was instantly accepted. It was never in doubt. On occasion my Mom would come and get me and make me go home for a night, but then it was back to my grand parents until the next required home visit.

A number of events continue to stand out in my mind. The annual rite of summer, a trip to Shelansky's for new straw hats. My first pay day. We had paid all the farm hands and I was checking on show steers when my grandfather came to me asking if I had forgotten something. "No, I don't think so", I replied. He asked me, "Did you get paid?" "No, but I didn't know I was supposed too", I said. And with that he handed over a roll of bills with a rubber band around them. I was rich! A later count would reveal fifteen one dollar bills. I did commission my Mom to take it to the bank and open me an account. She ended up opening a joint account for my brother and I. Here I was, eleven years old and I already had a bank account! 1969, the summer before he died, he was moving his son and daughter-in-law to Ithaca, New York. My uncle had been accepted to do some graduate work there after completing the Texas A & M Veterinary School. They were going to do some sight seeing, visit their oldest daughter living in Virginia, taking three or four weeks to go and return. I was in charge of the farm and it's employees. Before leaving my grandad took me into the bank and we sat down across the desk from Mr. Potter, the bank president. He explained that I was in charge while he was gone. I would be writing payroll checks along with any others that might be incidental. He informed the president that I was acting with his blessing and that any transaction should be treated as if he had done it himself. The bank president chided me about responsibility and maturity.

My grandfather had the ability to make you feel the importance of the responsibility and yet make sure you were also aware of what was expected of you. I was sixteen at the time.

Three months later, he was gone. Dead at 61, from a massive heart attack. If there was a silver lining, I did spend the entire day before he died with him, the reality of it though was that our talk and dreams of farming together, died with him. I can only imagine what might have been.

My mother says he was a hard man. I never saw it. She tells me I am a lot like him, that sometimes I am hard and unforgiving. Maybe I am, maybe I'm not, but either way I come by it honest.

To be totally honest, I don't know if I have ever dealt with losing him.

Back to the gift, sorry 'bout that. I got to strolling down memory lane.

Over the years, my Mom has given me several gifts, beginning with my grandad's pipe. It's mounted on a plaque and hung on the wall. She's given me a keepsake box that over the years has become more and more crowded as it fills with items. Last year's gift was his wallet and pocket knife. Sitting by the keepsake box is his pipe kit. Several pipes in racks along with a glass tobacco container. Before our house was remodeled, the bell that hanged by the garage door at his house, hanged in the entry way at mine. There is a weathered bench made of barn siding sitting in the entry way as well. Many were the times we sat side by side on that bench, removing or putting on our shoes as we came to and from their house.

This year's gift was his Timex wristwatch and a small pocket notebook. I wound the watch but it doesn't run. Too many years sitting idle, I guess. The outside of the notebook simply states "Memorandum Book". On the inside cover, my grandfather had written his name, H.L. McLeod, the date, December 14, 1930, and where he lived at the time, Lamesa, Texas. There were no directions to buried treasure hidden in these pages. There are not any startling messages, any hidden family secrets. But every page is a treasure to me.

It is a testament of a frugal man, a good man. Some of the information is almost unbelievable. In March of 1930 there is an entry, What we owe Daddy. 1st bill of groceries and there is a list with each item priced and totaled at the bottom. $5.88. Throughout this book are records of business he transacted. From supplies to the blacksmith. There are some I have studied before figuring out their meaning. There were several entries that began with PA. Finally we discovered that stood for Prince Albert tobacco. Almost every list of supplies ended with 10 cents for candy. One item that is almost unbelievable is that on one charge he got $1 for his pocket. I guess it was an early version of ATM's. I'm sure with that dollar he had more than enough money to do whatever he needed. Other entries of note include; foolishness .10, rent $5.13, babies presents .05, Doc $2.

On the inside back cover there is another hand written note in pencil. It is almost faded. It lists Elnor Glynn Mc Leod age one month and eight days, and her older sister Mary Jo Mc Leod age two years and six months. Elnor is my mom. This entry is from April 15, 1931.

Who said children were the only ones who couldn't wait for Christmas.

FATHER, thank YOU for precious memories.