Lessons From My Grandfather

My grandfather, Isabel Joseph Porras, was my best buddy growing up. He was always laughing, always joking, always pulling some kind of prank on me. I can still picture myself looking over at my grandma whenever he told one of his stories, just to check if it was true. Most of the time, she’d give me that sweet little smile and shake her head no.

Some of my best childhood memories were made with my grandparents. For years, before my family had our own camper, we stayed with them at Rolling Timbers Campground in New Carlisle. We picked strawberries, apples and peaches at Williams’ Farms, found hole-in-the-wall restaurants, went to church on Sunday mornings or Saturday evenings, and spent countless hours garage sale shopping.

Grandpa always had us up early for garage sales. We’d awake an hour before they started. He’d say, “The early bird gets the worm.” As a seven-year-old, I didn’t want to be up at 7 a.m. on a Saturday, but as a serious (or at least as serious as $3 or $4 could make me) baseball card collector, I went along. I was a pretty good dealmaker, just like Grandpa. Still, the minute I got in the back of his big, comfy Buick, I went straight back to sleep, pillow in hand.

Before I dozed off, I’d remind him: “Grandpa, only wake me if they have baseball cards.”

Ten minutes later, I’d hear, “Damian, Damian, no cards here.”I’d sit up, confused, and say, “Then why did you wake me up?”He’d laugh and shrug, inventing what kids now call “my bad.”

What seemed like minutes later: “Damian, Damian…”

“No cards at this one.” We went through this routine for hours. But I never got upset, because I knew it was part of his game. Those little gags and lessons are exactly the kind of joy and mischief I pass along to my kids today.

Recently, I read an article in Psychology Today about why time with grandparents is so valuable for children. It made me think how true that is. With my grandparents, every day felt like an adventure. The wisdom, patience, and love they showed me became some of the most powerful parts of who I am today.

When my grandmother passed, I moved in with my grandfather. At first, I thought I was keeping him company, but really, he was still teaching me. He made five-course breakfasts, which included waffles, eggs, cereal, oatmeal, fresh fruit, and Mexican bread. All this for a kid who used to run out the door with a Pop-Tart. He greeted me on cold mornings in his drafty Indiana Harbor house by abruptly ripping off the blankets and giggling at my astonishment. But more importantly, I saw him live his values.

Every morning, before breakfast, he walked a half mile to church. Grandpa not just exercised his body, but his soul.

During tax season, Grandpa volunteered his time at the Roberto Clemente Center, helping seniors file their returns. At home, he ran his own accounting business and charged very little to those in need. I remember the families in his waiting room, all of them trusting him not just with their finances but with their dignity.

Once, a family brought him a box of government cheese as payment. I asked why. He said, “That’s all they could afford, but they wanted to give something. They are humble people.” When I opened the refrigerator, I noticed two more boxes already there. He never turned anyone away.

That simple act still resonates with me: help others above all else.

Looking back, my grandfather gave me far more than jokes and warm memories. He gave me a blueprint for how to live. To live and love with laughter, with faith, and with generosity. His lessons weren’t in books; they were in the way he carried himself, in the people he helped, and in the life he lived.

I see his legacy in myself, and now I see it in my kids. And that, I think, is the greatest gift a grandfather could give.

Damian Rico is the Marketing Director at Hospice of the Calumet Area. The opinions expressed are his own.