Today, February 2, 2021, Groundhogs’ Day is my maternal grandfather’s birthday—Grandaddy Hinson. If he had lived this long, he would have been 90 years old today. He didn’t he was killed in a wreck in 2011 when he was 80 years old.
I realize that families have problems and not everyone has a great family, and I want to be sensitive to that. But, I do. One of God’s greatest gifts to me has been my family. I have had great parents, uncles/aunts, cousins, siblings, and grandparents.
My Grandaddy Hinson was born in 1932. He only went to school through the 8th grade (I think), but he was one of the smartest, wisest, and best people I have ever known. He spent his whole life farming, fishing, hunting, and raising a family. From a purely earthly perspective, I cannot imagine a better granddaddy than him! So much of what I think and how I think about life, people, and myself is because of him! I still think about him almost every single day!
It is good for us to reflect on the gifts that God has given us and to honor the people that He has used to make us who we are. Below is the eulogy that I wrote and delivered at his funeral service 10 years ago this summer.
Eulogy for Roy Franklin “Granddaddy” Hinson
June 13, 2011
Granddaddy was a lot of things to a lot of people.
He was a faithful loving husband.
In thirty years, I never saw or heard he and Grandmama fight or argue one time. I am sure they did, but I never saw it or heard it.
He was a good and caring father to my mama and her brothers.
He was a good brother.
He was a good son.
Of course, I knew him as granddaddy.
I can remember him getting mad three times in my life.
We were out in the side yard of the house on Marion Dodd Loop by where Richard’s dog Pepper’s house was. Me and Crissy and Jody were shooting a B B Gun toward the bean field. I still think I was pointing the gun toward a tree, but Granddaddy thought I was pointing it at Crissy. He jerked the gun out of my hand and spanked me with the stock of it. That was the only time he ever spanked me.
Another time, me and Jody were spending the night at their house, and it was time to go to bed. We were talking in the bed. He told us to be quiet a few times, and we kept talking. Finally, Granddaddy yelled from his bedroom: “I said to shut up.”
I also remember the only time I ever heard him cuss. I was sitting on the right fender of his 4020 and Jody was on the left fender. We were on the gravel by the shed about to go and do something. Granddaddy had gotten off the tractor to check something before we left, and he poked a hole in the oil filter or it came loose, or something because oil came pouring out all over. When he yelled, Jody and I looked at each other. We were shocked because Granddaddy didn’t talk like that. I had never heard him say anything like that before and I never did again.
If he were here, I’m sure he could tell us what year all of these things happened and how much rain we got that year and how the cotton crop was that fall.
I think the reason these stories stand out to me is because they were so rare. Only three times in thirty years did I ever see or hear him get mad.
A lot of Saturdays when I was growing up, mamma and Grandmamma and Crissy would spend the day shopping in Jackson, and Jody and I would spend the day with Granddaddy—riding the tractor with him, playing in the cotton trailers, fishing, or doing whatever he was doing. More than once, we would have to stop and drive to Jackson to jump-start their car where they had left the lights on. He never got mad or disgusted by that at all. He just laughed, and we would go do it. I think I remember one time even having to go do it twice in one day.
I also remember one winter it had snowed and the schools were delayed. Crissy and Jody and I were at the end of our driveway waiting on the school bus to come and Granddaddy drove up. He had been to the bank and brought us three candy canes. He told us to make sure that we ate them really fast so they would be gone before we got to school and we wouldn’t get in trouble.
I used to love spending the night or the weekend at their house for a lot of reasons. One reason was because he would let us stay up late. Our bedtime growing up was 8:00, but when we stayed there, we got to stay up and watch the news until after 10:00. Sometimes he would even stay up and watch The Honey Mooners with us. And, on occasion, he would even get us a piece of chocolate cake or pie for a midnight snack—but we had to promise not to tell Grandmamma.
One time me and Crissy and Jody had ridden our bicycles from their house on Marion Dodd Loop to the store. On the way to the store, we got chased by a dog at one of the neighbor’s houses. We were too scared to come back because of the dog, so we stood at the end of the road not knowing what to do. John Tate was with us, and he took his shoes off and started doing cartwheels or handstands. He thought if granddaddy was looking for us, he would be able to see his white socks sticking up better. After a while we saw Granddaddy driving toward us. He had gotten his binoculars out and seen us. He loaded our bicycles up and drove us to their house. On the way, he taught us how to get off of our bicycles and walk them passed a house with a dog because the pedaling made the dog think that we were kicking at him and he would try to bite our feet.
I used to love to spend the night at their house, but not by myself. I always wanted someone—Crissy or Jody—to stay with me. One time I was there by myself. I hadn’t said anything but Granddaddy could tell that I was homesick. He didn’t make a joke about it or ignore it, he told me about a time when he used to get homesick and how bad of a feeling that is.
When I was a kid, I thought Granddaddy knew absolutely everything. When I got older, I realized that he really did know everything. There was nothing he couldn’t do. And, if he didn’t know how to do something or fix something, he could always find a way or make a way. Not only that, but he also loved to teach other people how to do stuff. I remember lots of things that he taught me:
He taught me how to fish. How to bait a hook, cast without hooking someone behind me, how to get the fish off the hook. He never seemed to get tired of untangling my line or getting it out of a tree limb either.
He taught me how to shoot a gun.
He taught me how to drive a lawn mower.
One afternoon sitting under the back porch/patio area of their house, he taught me how to count the seconds that passed between when I heard thunder and when I saw lightening and tell whether a storm was getting closer or farther away.
He taught me how to pour a glass of Kool-Aid without spilling the whole pitcher on the counter.
He taught me how to shell black-eyed peas.
He taught me how to pat a dog on the side so that he would kick his back leg like he was scratching.
He taught me how to hold a fish so that I wouldn’t get stuck by his fin.
One day Granddaddy and Barry and Sammy Edmiston were going somewhere in the ton truck and me and Jody crammed in with them on their laps. Barry had picked a pecan up out of the yard and gave it to me to eat. He gave me the bitter orange part from inside the shell and told me to eat that. Granddaddy laughed and taught me how to separate the pecan next time so that it wouldn’t be bitter.
He taught me down at the shed one afternoon not to put a spray can in a fire or it would explode.
He taught me how you get a fishhook out of your hand if it gets stuck passed the barb.
He taught me how to read Reader’s Digest—especially the jokes sections.
He taught me how to like eating chicken gizzards.
He taught me how to get up and keep riding my bicycle whenever I fell off and skinned my knees up.
He taught me how to listen to my mama and do whatever she said. I didn’t always do everything he taught me, but I remember him teaching me that. And, if he was around, he made sure that I did it.
He taught me not to panic whenever the boat ran up on a stump. I knew that if Granddaddy was driving then he would be able to get it off if I just moved around to the back or whatever he told me to do.
He taught me to wear long sleeves when working outside in the summer to keep the sun off and to help stay cool.
You might be thinking that these are little insignificant things—and they are. But that is kind of the point—two points actually.
First, It is not just what he taught me. It is that he taught me these things. I remember not just the things that he taught me but I remember the way that he taught me, and the conversations we had—some of them almost word for word and exactly where we were and what we were doing.
Second, these are all little things, and if he hadn’t taught them to me then I would have learned them anyway. Someone else would have taught them to me. But, no one else had to because he did.
I realize that not everybody gets to have a Granddaddy like this, but, we did, and we are thankful!
