I was fortunate enough to have known a grandfather and two great-grandfathers. The great ones were already worn out with their own grandchildren and weren’t nearly as involved, invested, or interested in me as my granddaddy, George Washington Bateman Sr.
The name alone leads me to believe his parents were very patriotic; but he was, after all, the firstborn in his family. I digress, but feel a need to add he had a brother named Andrew Jackson, and another named Theodore Roosevelt. We called them Jack and Thea.
Grandaddy was a tall man, well over six feet. He was strongly built, not fat nor thin. He was bald; but, for a while, grew a long piece of hair from one side of his head and fashioned it across the baldness. He loved to sit outside and whittle, but he never made anything. He just enjoyed shaving a piece of wood down to nothing. The thin wood shavings would be all around him
Where grandchildren were concerned, Granddaddy had unbelievable patience. He might have been worn out, too, after raising 10 kids. I never heard him threaten or even raise his voice despite all the shenanigans his flock of grandkids performed. Some of the younger ones even managed to burn down his barn. They were a mite wilder than us older ones.
One of my favorite memories of Granddaddy is when he took corn to the mill to be ground and let those of us who wanted to make the trip go with him. There was always a passel of kids there, and several of us took him up on his offer.
He hitched the wagon behind his big reddish-orange tractor, loaded the sacks of corn, and waited while my cousins and I climbed on. It was delightful! From the house on Lake Emory Road to the mill off Depot Street Extension we moved at a leisurely tractor pace of less than 10 miles per hour. He never looked back to check traffic or to see if anyone had fallen off, so it’s a good thing no one did.
At the mill, Granddaddy visited with the men who ran the operation while his passengers played on the wagon and tractor. He did not spend any time supervising, figuring surely we had enough sense to stay out of trouble. After the corn was ground and loaded back on the wagon, we climbed aboard to make the return trip. I knew those children we met riding in cars had to be envious.
Another memory is when I opened the gate so his hunting dog could escape. That dog had looked at me with sad eyes, asking to be freed. I told him saying I would oblige him, but he must run far away when I opened the gate.
We had spent a lot of time together so I thought that dog understood English, but apparently he did not. The minute he escaped he ran straight to Granddaddy, who didn’t say a word but took him by the collar and returned him to his dog lot. Dumb dog.
During Granddaddy’s lifetime the Wright brothers flew the first airplane and Neil Armstrong walked on the moon, but I don’t know if he had time to be impressed with all those goings on. He was a good man, the salt of the earth, and a wonderful grandfather.