Recently I have been reminiscing about my grandfather and all of the lessons he taught me. The funny thing is, I don’t even think he was aware that he was doing it. It wasn’t until much later in life that I became aware of what was being taught.

For instance, one warm day in Santa Cruz, California, I was helping him out in the fields near his property. With the neighbor’s permission, his plan was to expand the size of his field and add more crops. Back then a handshake and a gentlemen’s agreement is all that was needed to use each other’s land.

There I was, his proud assistant and like all assistants (especially grandchildren), I was sent to ‘go-fer’ this or that. This particular day he wanted me to go to the tool shed and bring back a certain tool. He needed a scythe, which was a long-handled implement with a curved blade used for cutting tall grass or grain.

I’m standing in the tool shed looking everywhere for that scythe. As does a typical child I yelled out “I can’t find it.”

He yells back in Italian “