by Howard B. Gee

            There are many acts of service and kindness and character traits that perhaps should be described in a tribute such as this—including, by way of brief example, the countless quilts and articles of clothing Grandma has made for her grandchildren, great-grandchildren and others, the service Grandma and Grandpa have rendered as missionaries and Grandpa’s unwavering commitment to the fulfillment of his Priesthood responsibilities.  I felt, however, that perhaps the best way I could pay tribute to Grandma and Grandpa Gee is to thank them for several of the important lessons they have taught to, and examples they have set for, me while I had the privilege of spending time with them at the Paris house during the summers of 1979 and 1980.

            I thank Grandpa for showing me that it is always possible to progress, even in the face of seemingly insurmountable challenges and obstacles.  Once Grandpa decided to do something, he let nothing prevent him from accomplishing that which he had decided to do.  The only time Grandpa backed away from a decision he had made, or an activity in which he was engaged prior to successful completion, was at the insistence of Grandma (whether based upon common sense, sheer emotion or a combination of the two).

            While this lesson was taught repeatedly during the course of those two summers, it was perhaps best illustrated as Grandpa and I were nailing siding onto the addition he was building for Grandma off of the kitchen.  Grandpa had purchased press-board siding, and had selected large, dull galvanized nails to hold the siding in place.  We decided to start our siding activities with the longest wall of the addition, which seemed to me to be 40 or 50 feet long (but was actually closer to 20 feet or so in length).

            I had not realized, prior to this experience, how heavy press-board material is.  I further completely underestimated how difficult it would be to try to drive a thick, dull nail horizontally into a piece of press-board siding while holding it against a wall that moved slightly with each hammer blow. 

            The first board was hammered into place without incident.  Grandpa and I chalked a blue line on that board to guide us in the placement of the second.  Grandpa said he would hold the board in place while I hammered in the first nail.  Struggling to ensure the board was in precisely the right place, I took aim and delivered a mighty blow to the nail I was holding.  Unfortunately for me, as a result of the combination of a slightly wobbly wall, the reluctance of the press-board siding to accept dull, galvanized nails, and the questionable grip I had on both the nail and the siding, the hammer glanced off of the head of the nail, landing, instead, on the nail attached to my thumb.  I howled in pain and grabbed my thumb, dropping the hammer (which landed on my insufficiently protected left foot) and the siding (the corner of which attempted to embed itself in my equally insufficiently protected right foot).

            Grandpa waited patiently for me to regain my composure, and then suggested we try it again.  Somehow we got that board on, and grabbed board three.  To make a long story short, the exact same series of events repeated themselves on boards three, four and five.  I had had enough.  With my thumb the size of a golf ball (or so it seemed), I threw off my gloves, flung my hammer into the rhubarb patch and stomped off, writing the entire project off as impossible, and angry that Grandpa would expect me to participate in a job that obviously could never be finished.

            After about 15 minutes, I realized Grandpa had not tried to find me to either attempt to console me in my great pain, or to chastise me for being such a baby, so I decided to seek him out to complain.  When I went back to the construction site, I found Grandpa, working alone, nailing siding onto the addition.  Somehow he was able, by himself, to do what I thought was impossible for an army of men to accomplish.

            I have reflected on that scene numerous times—me, standing there in pain, self-pity and defeat, and Grandpa silently, slowly and consistently succeeding—when I have been about to turn away from a project or goal prior to completion.  It has helped me remember that, with persistence and determination, overwhelming odds are reduced, insurmountable obstacles are overcome and goals are reached.

            I thank Grandma for helping me prepare for my mission.  Everything I did those summers, somehow, related to what I would be doing as a missionary.  Every time I was asked to peel potatoes or carrots, do the dishes, fold sheets or towels, it was coupled with a statement like, “you realize, Howard, you will need to do this as a missionary, and you should learn to do it now.”  Similarly, every time I needed to be reminded to make my bed, put my clothes away or wash out the bathtub, I was told that my missionary companions would find it much easier to live with me if I remembered to do those things.  More important, however, were the constant, unspoken reminders to pray, read my scriptures, be obedient and look for opportunities to serve others.