I found this story today as I was looking through files on my computer. I wrote it in high school, not long after my Pop passed away. I miss that sweet man.
The Greatest Lessons
By: Hannah Baker
I was in second grade when Daddy told me we were moving to that little country town. We were moving because my Gramma had been "lifted up”, and my Papa was all alone. I remember how exciting Mama and Daddy made it sound. “…And there’ll be cows and chickens and you’ll get to walk to school like the other children, and I’m sure your Papa will tell you stories about when he used to live all the way across the ocean!”
I loved school. Mrs. Johnson taught me how to add and subtract and about where rain came from. I got a blue ribbon for being the best student, and I didn’t get in trouble once- not even when I pulled Jimmy’s hair. I got to spend some time with Papa too. He told me about coming over on a boat from a big country called Russia. He said my Gramma would’ve liked to tell me funny stories about how he got sea sick and she had to carry him to the top deck. He said she had hair the color of the darkest of chocolate and eyes that were just as blue as mine. He’d always say, “My Lena. She vould have loved you.” And then he’d just smile and go on.
My summer days were filled with helping Papa. The minute school let out for summer break, I ran all the way to his farm. It was only a mile or so from the school. His door was always unlocked and I always found him working. Papa wasn’t big but he was the strongest man alive. There was always a pair of his clean, old, worn, overalls laying on the rocking chair for me to slip on. We’d walk hand in hand to the barn. Being with Papa made me wonder about things. I’d ask things like “Do cows drink milk?” or “Do you think it hurts the worms when we bait the hook?” Papa never seemed to tire of my questions. He only smiled and answered to the best of his ability. I forgot to mention he was the smartest man alive too. He taught me how to tie my shoes and how to whistle and snap my fingers. He taught me how to milk a cow. At the end of the day I’d put my hand-sewn dress back on and walk home, promising to be back the following day. Everything was perfect with Papa. I wasn’t ever sad or lonely when I was with him.
My routine remained unchanged from the time I was seven until the summer after I turned thirteen. It was as if I'd been growing older without taking notice. I wasn’t the only one growing older either. Papa had become so much feebler over those last couple of summers. Daddy said that’s what happens when people get old. Papa called me Lena sometimes. I just patted his hand.
It was the last day of school. I picked up my books and dragged myself outside. “Are you coming over, Kate?” my friend, Jackie, asked. I looked in the direction I knew I should go. Papa won’t mind. He knows I have friends. I’ll just go tomorrow and explain to him. He probably doesn’t even remember I’m coming. I turned and followed Jackie to her house. I did not know then that it was the beginning of a new phase.
Jackie and I had lots of fun. We went into her mother’s room and tried on her best dresses. Then we put lipstick on and put socks in our bras to make us look like women. We giggled and talked and giggled some more. But it was different than Papa’s farm. It was a different kind of fun.
The next day I woke up late. I went to mama’s room and fixed my hair the way Jackie showed me. It took an hour. Then I went in my room and fell onto my bed. I wondered what Papa was doing. Those overalls just didn’t fit me right anymore, and I never imagined I’d run out of questions but I guess that summer I thought I had. The rest of the summer break went by pretty quickly. Mama and Daddy would ask “Why haven’t you been to visit your Papa?” And I’d reply, “I will tomorrow.” I did go a few times. I even put on those old ugly overalls. Grandpa took my hand as he always did. His hand felt cold. He smiled. I smiled back, but it was different. Papa didn’t seem to notice, though.
School started again. I was a freshman in highschool. Mama made me a new dress. The boys liked it. I liked them. I’ll admit I didn’t really think about Papa much. I was just too old to have fun the way I used to. I saw him just often enough to remove the guilt I felt. Early in the school year I came home to find both mama and daddy sitting on the couch in the living room. Mama was crying. “What’s wrong?” I asked. Daddy’d been crying too. My daddy never cried. “What’s wrong?” I asked again. “Kate, come and sit down.” Mama patted the couch. She talked loud and slow, like people talk to babies. “Katherine, your Grandpa has… well… Kate, he died this morning.” I looked at her for a long while. I didn’t understand. Papa couldn’t die. He was…the strongest and smartest man alive. I opened the storm door and started walking the path to Papa’s farm. I was thinking about all those silly questions I had asked. I was thinking about how firm he always held my hand. I was thinking about his smile. When I got to his house the door was unlocked as it always had been. The overalls were laying on the rocking chair. I put them on and walked to the barn. It was empty. I sat down on a hay bale and cried. I cried for a long time. Papa must’ve waited every day that last summer for me to come.
Things are always changing. For six years I didn’t know change. I didn’t know about boys, or fixing my hair a certain way. Papa didn’t teach me how to add or subtract, or teach me about where rain comes from, but sometimes the most important lessons are the simple lessons like how to tie shoes, how to whistle and snap, how to milk a cow, and how very much I miss Papa.
