I was visiting my dear old Grandpa the other day when he said to me, "Let me give you a bit of advice. You can't make an omelette..." "Without breaking eggs?" I finished for him. "No. You can't make an omelette," he said, as he scraped it into the bin.
Walking up to a department store's fabric counter, a pretty girl asked, "I want to buy this material for a new dress. How much does it cost?"
"Only one kiss per yard, " replied the smirking male clerk.
"That's fine," replied the girl. "I'll take ten yards."
With expectation and anticipation written all over his face, the clerk hurriedly measured out and wrapped the cloth, then held it out teasingly.
The girl snapped up the package, pointed to a little old man standing beside her, smiled and said. "Grandpa pay the man."
I hope that this will once again confirm that the most important information in your life won't come from a teacher, the library or the internet, but from a mentor, and on a very personal level.
My long-passed grandfather's birthday is coming up, and for me, it is a time to reminisce.
The long walks we used to take. The long drives. The special trips he would make to pick me up so I could spend weekends with him, and the advice he used to give!
Much was wasted because I was young when he died. If he were alive today and sharing his pearls of wisdom, I'd be a better man.
Those gems were well and good, but the one I remember most, the jewel in the crown of grandfatherly advice, came when I was 12.
We were sitting on a park bench eating a sandwich, watching children and their mothers enjoying a beautiful spring day.
He told me that one day, I'd find a woman and start my own family.
"And son," he said, "be sure you marry a woman with small hands."
"How come, Grandpa?" I asked.
"It makes your pecker look bigger."