My Grandpa William Mack Little was generally a happy man even though he might have had many reasons to be miserable, sad, depressed. He spoke little about the deprivations of his life unless someone prompted him. I knew that his mother died at the time of his birth and that his father immediately took him to grow up with his grandmother. He was quite content with life in rural Virginia with the grandmother who raised him. He frequently told stories of that time, all of which focused on his admiration for his grandmother. Sadly she was already quite advanced in age when she lovingly accepted the job of being his mother. He only enjoyed his time with her until he was thirteen years old when she died. An uncle would become his guardian, but William was mostly on his own by then. He was thrown into the responsibilities of being an adult before he had celebrated his sixteenth year on this earth. 

My grandfather understood the limitations of his father’s ability to care for him. The two of them were never able to establish much more than a formal relationship with each other. Instead Grandpa mostly made his own way in the world, moving from one construction job to another wherever there was work to be found. His was a lonely life lived in temporary housing supported by incredibly long days of physical labor. It was not until he was in his forties that he found the love of his life, Minnie Bell. By his account he adored her from the first time he met her until he died at the age of one hundred eight long after she was gone. 

Grandpa never accumulated wealth but he was rich in his ability to find happiness in the mundane. Instead of bemoaning the trials of his existence he focused on the tribulations. He spent his last years in a rented room in a tiny house but celebrated his good fortune in finding a landlord who would become like a daughter to him. He was satisfied just to have a comfortable recliner in which to sit while he read his newspapers and magazines and books. He looked back on his life with a smile and only became a bit melancholy when he spoke of living so long that he had lost so many of the people that he had loved including his wife, his children, many grandchildren and all of his friends. Still he reveled in those who took the time to visit with him and to enjoy his stories and his wisdom. 

I was in my forties when my grandfather died. It was one of the greatest losses that I have experienced. From the time I was a little girl he had served as a kind of surrogate for my father, his son who died tragically when he was only thirty three. As I matured and launched my own life I began to realize more and more how magnificently Grandpa had lived his life. He would never be lauded for his business acumen or his possessions but he was perhaps the greatest man I would ever know. I admired him for his ability to survive and celebrate his “good fortune” in always landing squarely on his feet. He was a man who lived well because he decided to do so.

Grandpa was the quintessential optimist. His mantra was that “these are the good old days.” He believed in progress and had great faith that humans would always manage to find their way beyond tragedies, wars, disasters. He had seen the progressive march into the future for all of his lifetime and he believed that overall it was very good. He celebrated the inventiveness of humankind as well as the kindness that invariably finds its way into even the most difficult times and situations. He saw his grandmother, his uncle, and his wife as living proof of the decency of people. He spoke of examples he had encountered again and again. He saw that our human instinct of being kind always ultimately outweighed our darker inclinations. He was certain that good would win over evil in the long run. 

Grandpa seemed to bear no ill will or jealousies toward others. He admired people who achieved greatness. He did not see life as a competition with others. He believed in sharing whatever he had with others much as he had witnessed his grandmother and his wife doing. He saw people as being equal to one another regardless of their actual status as sometimes judged by others. He was a champion of the underdog as well as the person who had reached the heights of achievement. He literally did not see one as more worthy of respect than the other. 

Grandpa did not fret and worry. Experience had taught him that things have a way of working out over time. He was content with each day as it came. He was wise enough to know when it was time to work hard and when it was time to just sit back and relax. He liked to talk and listen and laugh. He found great joy in a bowl of ice cream or a hug. He often cautioned me not to be as anxious as he sensed that I was. He explained that over thinking about problems or what may happen next week or next year did nothing but make us unhappy. Carpe diem was his mantra even when the only thing to seize was waking up in the morning. 

I see so much sorrow and fear and complaining all around me. I wish that I had the power to convey the contentment and joy that my Grandpa Little radiated. I know that I am all too often guilty of feeling a sense of doom as I experience the effects of climate change and observe the suffering in the world. I know that my grandfather would tell me to look for the heroes because they are always there even when they appear to be silenced by evil. He would urge me to have hope and patience and most of all not to let anyone steal my joy. In remembering him I restore my footing and accept his challenge to be happy.