Dewey Moss was my grandfather. His favorite past time was being a rockhound. People from all over would seek his advice when hunting paint rock agate, a beautiful rock when cut and polished by someone with the proper eye. And he had the proper eye.
He loved country music. Most of all he loved fiddle playing and blue grass.
But, to me, he was Granddaddy. I had the honor of speaking at his funeral. This is what I said.
My Granddaddy
He was everything a granddaddy is supposed to be. Family was everything to him. He loved to play games with kids. He kept all his spare change in a bucket in his closet. At Christmas he would let each grandchild scoop out all they could get in their hand and it was theirs to keep. He always made sure the youngest got more than they could hold.
He taught me how to fish, how to drive a nail with a hammer and he even told me my first dirty joke. He also showed me what it meant to be a gentleman. There was a right place and time for that kind of thing. He never told me, he showed me.
I was lucky enough to spend a lot of time with him over the last 8 years. I stayed at his house when I was in town on business. I repaid him by letting him take me to breakfast. No one ever paid for a meal when they were out with him. The one time I paid for his, he paid for the rest of the table.
He would give you anything he had and never ask for anything in return. Well, he would ask one thing. To come see him. Or when I had my own family, he would ask that I bring my kids to see him.
For as long as I live I will be able to hear, with perfect clarity, his voice in my head praying "Thank you for this, another, day and for the rest during the night". He could say a prayer like no one else. He was thankful for his children and grandchildren. And we were all very thankful for him.