Death, divorce, de bank, de bottle, depression….
Don’t tell me you’ve dropped your bundle old boy?
Grandpa Pearce, walks over to the young boy. The son he never had. Cheer up. A rough calloused old hand rubs his soft downy cheek and thick fingers that he used as a scotch measure passed him a piece of wood and an old chisel that he had carefully sharpened just enough for Jim to use safely.
C’mon that’s enough of the sad face. Let’s go in the workshop and I’ll teach you how to carve.
Jim looked up at the large grinning head with care worn lines and eyes that had seen much. Les had always thought Lyn’s dad was an old woman as Nanna Mae seemed to wear the pants. But he had no understanding that Grandpa Pearce was simply a gentleman. His actions always spoke louder than his words. C
