“‘Can’t’ isn’t a word; there’s nothing I can’t do except have babies, and I could figure that out if I wanted to.” — My grandfather
My father’s father was quite the guy. When I was about 10 years old, we were working on something together, and dared to say “can’t.” That’s when I heard that statement from the first time. At the time I actually believed it was true (although didn’t fully get the whole baby thing yet). As the years followed and I learned more of his legacy, it’s definitely true.
My grandfather was born British Columbia, the oldest of eight kids. Like many farm boys back in the late ’20s, he dropped out after the 8th grade to help work on on the farm. His father was a tough-love, slightly abusive father who immigrated from Holland. I wish I could remember the details of the story, but he and a friend found a firecracker (or so they thought) and my grandfather managed to blow off the tips of his thumb and forefinger. I think he was about 10 or 11 and he would let us grandkids examine his stumps to satisfy our curiosity.
As a Canadian during World War II, he was assigned to the construction crew building the Al-Can Highway. His stories of working in the tundra, driving big bulldozers and earth movers fascinated me. I know now there was a little mix of fiction within the truth, but I’ve always been proud to say my grandfather helped build that highway. Oh, and that’s where he chopped off the tip of his middle finger.
After the war, he went to work for the Canadian Pacific railroad, met my grandmother, and started his own family. My father was born on a small farm in Ontario and, for a number of years, my grandfather was traveling the rails as a brakeman. Until that one day in the middle of winter in northern Ontario: he slipped on the icy step of the caboose, broke his leg, and fell into the snow on the side of the track, watching the train chug off into the distance. They later discovered he was missing, came back to find him near death, frozen. What does any rational father do when he nearly freezes to death? Move the family to southern California!
I know times are different now, but what are the job options for a father of six with an 8th-grade education? Back in 1959, they weren’t too plentiful either. But “can’t” isn’t a word. While he never became famous or made millions, he overcame the obstacles to provide a very comfortable upbringing for his family.
I remember working with him around his house a number of times and he had common sense in spades. He had an incredibly able mind up until the day his heart gave out. I truly believe there was nothing he couldn’t build or fix. I’ve tried to live up to that quote and challenged my own boys when they’ve dared to say they can’t do something.
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