Driving with Grandpa.

Today is Kansas Day, and last weekend was my grandpa's birthday. Most of you know by now that I am a 7th generation Kansan. The first six generations lived at least part of their life in Harrison township in Jewell County. My mom was generation six, and my grandpa was generation five.

My grandpa has less words than he did two years ago. But he has the same heart. And I would argue that it has gotten bigger since the stroke, if that is even possible.

I have a lot of memories of driving around Jewell County with my grandpa. When I was little, I would ride in the tractor on the arm of his chair while we fed the cattle or harvested wheat. Then when I was eleven, Grandpa Lauren taught me how to drive. It was either teach me how to drive or how to open the barbed wire fences, and we both decided that driving the pickup into the field was the easier job.

When I was sixteen, I was in a bad accident in Jewell County. The crash I don't want to revisit. But the thing that has remained one of the most significant details on that terrible night is that Grandpa was the first one there. I don't know how he got to us so quickly, but he is the first thing I remember clearly after the crash. All of a sudden there he was in his cowboy hat and cowboy boots and calm strength that made all the difference in the world.

And pretty much in my life. Happy birthday Grandpa and happy birthday Kansas.