My grandfather had an eighth grade education, yet that never stopped him from being a lifelong student. If he didn’t know how to do something, he taught himself through books and hands-on work. My memories are filled with images of him bent under the hood of a car, hunched over a workbench in his cellar workshop, and kneeling in the dirt planting flowers.
Nothing was an obstacle (except maybe that low-hanging basement pipe, but he put thick foam padding around that after he almost knocked himself out).
He laid tracks for the railroad during the week and, in his off hours, worked in the house: putting up wallpaper, repairing plumbing, tiling a shower, building cabinets, hemming pants, fixing broken toys, taking apart a electronics, laying bricks, and fiddling with new-fangled gadgets. When mobile phones were still the size of an arm, he installed a mount in his car and made…
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