Lessons from my grandparents

A lot of really important things happened recently.

An ambassador was killed abroad. Rep. Michele Bachmann, R-6th District of Minnesota, called our president “the most dangerous one we’ve ever had on foreign policy.” I’m sure the mayor of Carmel, Ind., is still behaving like a child.

This week I’m going to take a break from talking about all these things to tell you something I’ve realized is infinitely more important.

Since my family moved four states away last fall, I’ve become the sole member of the Reed clan in the area besides my grandparents.

When my grandma called me two weeks ago to ask if I would come for the weekend, I was resentful, to say the least.

So resentful, in fact, that when I left Bloomington to go to my grandparents’, I did so more than an hour late. I was in no hurry to cut short a coffee shop conversation I was having.

I wouldn’t say I’m proud of it.

Throughout the weekend, Don and Bobbie Reed have reminded me that they are by far the wisest people I know.

That includes professors with doctorates from some of the most prestigious universities in the world with more awards than I could possibly list in the paltry 400 words my editors give me.

While devouring questionable Mexican food and delicious cupcakes, we talked politics, philosophy, history and the complexities of social structure.

They proved on every topic to be not only impeccably informed, but astoundingly open-minded and clever. I found it tough to keep up with them.

My grandparents don’t have college degrees, and I don’t think they would describe themselves as heavy readers. But they pay attention, and between the two of them, they’ve been paying attention for more than 130 years.

As I write this, I’m sitting in the recliner usually reserved for my grandpa in the living room of their tidy Greene County home.

My grandpa has had many chairs in my lifetime, but they’ve all smelled the same. This one is no different.

It smells just like the interior of the bright blue ’84 GMC Sierra pickup truck sitting in their driveway.

That truck is older than I am.

It has smelled the same from the first day I remember riding in it all the way up until the last time I drove it, the day I put a dent in the fender moving into my new apartment a month ago.

My grandparents’ simple wisdom, infinite humility and boundless generosity refocus my concentration on what is truly important.

Every time I see them, I am astonished at how quickly I forgot the lessons they taught me during my previous visit.

Grandma, I promise to never resent a weekend spent in your company — or be late for one — ever again.

­— drlreed@indiana.edu