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"Creep it Grandpa!"
Grandpa grew up working with his hands.
He was raised “if you want something done right- do it yourself”. Grandpa was not stupid; he was also raised there were folks with knacks, talents and had the more proper tool for the job. So one learned from those smarter, and swallowed his pride if he needed to barter for something he needed done.
Grandpa’s knack was engines. His other knacks included guns and shooting. He could feel and hear the problems and make them go away. Not a bad carpenter, electrician or woodworker, sawdust has a smell and soul akin to engines, fixing up old oil lamps to use light bulbs was easy pocket money.
Now Plumbing did not have those smells or character to him. Might have had to do with too much water back in his Service days …
Grandson was Grandpa’s bestest helper. So when the plumber came out with his truck making a racket, running rough…and the talk turned to guns and needing a shotgun fitted to a son…his truck needing attention…
Grandma was just happy the swimming pool was out of her kitchen. Besides, Grandpa and Grandson being out in shop meant they didn’t get in her way, or snag with greasy fingers what she was fixing.
Besides, a Grandson was supposed to be upside-down in an engine compartment retrieving a wrench Grandpa had dropped and couldn’t quite reach. Little boys have smaller hands for that…and they can scoot under a truck to the middle of it – where all tools and parts just seem to fall just out of Grandpa’s reach…Grandson’s come in right handy – at times…
Grandson’s even fit under and behind stuff in the shop to retrieve gun parts that just- “Son, gun parts will go to the most difficult place to get to – to hide from you…”
Seafoam [tm] was a mainstay in Grandpa’s “tools for the task”. The Deep Creep [tm] was just the Seafoam in a spray form. “Cweep” was easier to say at first than “Seafoam” so naturally “Creep” later on was just easier to say what you meant when using this product; spray or liquid, makes no never mind, its “Creep”.
Besides squirting and spraying more fun than pouring in the learning stages of fixing engines, getting something rusty to let loose , and besides you cannot pour something "up" anyway - even a kid knows that!
Amazing how a kid can get Seafoam all over a lawnmower and miss the carburetor, now that red extension tube, well phooey, even a kid can hit a carb with this stuff most times...
Sometimes a Grandkid being held up to hinges "up there" with that spray Creep...Grandson's do this better than Grandpa's on step ladders - everybody knows that!
Hoppe’s #9 was used on guns of course- had a nice smell too. Hard to say which smelled better, Hoppe’s # 9 or Seafoam, but for a kid a bigger can was better…besides it had red lettering, to match his wagon and tricycle, and there was that red extension tube on the spray version...
Grandpa had used “Creep” to get carbon out of guns, get moisture off them, get a screw loose that was rusty, so if Grandpa did it, must be right!
Amazing how well empty “Creep” cans fixed wagons, bikes, garden hoes…the dog…
Grandma would peer out and miss the paper sack of flour, salt and pepper the chicken was supposed to hit…eyes filled with tears of laughter does that...Grandson' s have a way producing memories, tears, and the chicken pieces just plum miss a sack...
Grandson out running around out back with his empty cans of “Creep” lubricating the clothes line poles, wagons, shed hinges, tricycles, the dog's tail…
Amazing what all a kitchen window over the kitchen sink affords a Grandma a view of...
Grandma had learned that an empty can of “Creep” makes it easier to pull up green onions…who says one cannot learn from a Grandson?
--
Grandson would sit and watch Grandpa with elbows on a shop table, chin in hands and work on guns or small engines. His job was to “Creep it”, just sometimes Grandpa did not Creep enough in his opinion, been at least 3 minutes since he last got to spray something…
Now the full cans kept safe, empty cans were Grandson’s. If raining and such, you stacked them, played Cowboy & Indians, or Army…
When the rain quit, there was all that stuff that needed "Creepin"...
Of course now Grandpa had a place to shoot out back, He liked this, seeing a gun fixed and being tested was great, especially a gun he helped fix.
Now it was cool when Grandpa and he would shoot that old single shot .22 rifle, or single shot shotgun and knock tin cans off that fence. He was not very big, but was going to get bigger soon enough and be able to shoot by himself some day…until that time came- Grandpa would hold the gun, and from Grandpa’s lap and with his little finger on Grandpa’s helped the “tigger” go back enough to make the gun go “bang”. He was the bestest helper, Grandparent’s sure seem to need a lot of help though…
Standing there with that little boy look , scrunched up nose, index finger in pouty mouth- Grandson did not fully understand “inheriting” but from the grin and Grandpa’s tone it was a good thing. He just nodded his head and hugged Grandpa. This seemed to make whatever Grandparents say, well, Grandparents are easy to train.
--
Grandma heard the blood curdling screams of Grandson. Wiped her hands on her Apron, and ran out to where the shooting had stopped out back.
Grandson was just a hollering, tears streaming down his face, snotty nose just a snottin’ up, blubberin’ more blubber, chest just a heaving, then not breathing, catch, catch, catch then finally a breath and then go at it again.
Grandma looked at Grandpa; Grandpa had that caring, but firm look he had about him.
Rite of Passage had just taken place, sometimes these hurt just bit, some hurt a bit more than others.
Grandmas lap, her apron producing a washrag to blow a nose in, wipe a face, and a band-aid for boo-boo that did not exist- made matters a bit better.
Grandma set Grandson down, Grandpa extended his hand and together these two walked out to the fence, the single shot broke open, spent hull lying next to it on another workbench in a safe direction.
Some tears had reappeared, wittle sniffle still heard, as they came back in; and that all but good peppered empty liquid Seafoam can was set on the table.
Now Grandson had learned rules about guns and how dangerous they were. He had seen where Grandpa has shot squirrels and rabbits; he had seen tin cans peppered and fly way off the fence.
Just the lessons had been more deeply ingrained when Grandpa has set HIS “Creep” on that fence, handed him that single shot shotgun and given a go ahead to shoot it.
Somehow being HIS "Creep" had more ragged holes, and flown farther off the fence. I mean he knew the gun was dangerous, knew stuff shot with one got hurt or kilt…just…just this was different, a whole ‘nuther level had been learned. Grandpa had intentionally wanted to instill something…with care and all, still wanted to make darn sure these lessons would not be forgotten…
--
Seems milk and cookies makes things better in Grandma’s kitchen, does not fix everything, don’t hurt either.
Grandpa came in with a box made of wood and glass, inside was his liquid can of Seafoam…or as he still called it “Creep” and that one spent hull. This here box was for remembering a lesson that hopefully would never be forgotton, the fact it would keep sharp ragged edges from cutting a Grandkid was an added thought out bonus...
All three went into the bedroom where Grandson stayed and Grandpa put HIS Creep in a sealed rememberance on a shelf.
Funny how that particular spot on the shelf was seen from no matter where you were in that room, or passing that room going down the hall when the door was open.
Grandson's getting older and constantly being reminded is a good thing...
--
Voices were heard in the house, then little footsteps, then a little knock on the door.
Dad was cleaning and inspecting the house defense shotgun. “Daddy, I’m sorry, I messed up and left my truck out in rain. I…I know I was told not to…I'm sorry ...”
Dad set the boy in his lap, moist eyes and a finger touching a pouty lip, just like it was said he did as a boy. Sure enough the rust had set in and the wheels on the toy truck would not spin.
“Creep it daddy?”
“Yes son, daddy will Creep it, now go on and get ready for bed, I’ll be in with you and Mom in a second”
Dad returned from the nightly ritual, entered the locked room where he reloaded shells and worked on guns.
He checked the chamber on the House Defense Shotgun, before finishing what started earlier.
“Creep it Grandpa!”
Copyright 2006 – Phil Carson
Grandpa grew up working with his hands.
He was raised “if you want something done right- do it yourself”. Grandpa was not stupid; he was also raised there were folks with knacks, talents and had the more proper tool for the job. So one learned from those smarter, and swallowed his pride if he needed to barter for something he needed done.
Grandpa’s knack was engines. His other knacks included guns and shooting. He could feel and hear the problems and make them go away. Not a bad carpenter, electrician or woodworker, sawdust has a smell and soul akin to engines, fixing up old oil lamps to use light bulbs was easy pocket money.
Now Plumbing did not have those smells or character to him. Might have had to do with too much water back in his Service days …
Grandson was Grandpa’s bestest helper. So when the plumber came out with his truck making a racket, running rough…and the talk turned to guns and needing a shotgun fitted to a son…his truck needing attention…
Grandma was just happy the swimming pool was out of her kitchen. Besides, Grandpa and Grandson being out in shop meant they didn’t get in her way, or snag with greasy fingers what she was fixing.
Besides, a Grandson was supposed to be upside-down in an engine compartment retrieving a wrench Grandpa had dropped and couldn’t quite reach. Little boys have smaller hands for that…and they can scoot under a truck to the middle of it – where all tools and parts just seem to fall just out of Grandpa’s reach…Grandson’s come in right handy – at times…
Grandson’s even fit under and behind stuff in the shop to retrieve gun parts that just- “Son, gun parts will go to the most difficult place to get to – to hide from you…”
Seafoam [tm] was a mainstay in Grandpa’s “tools for the task”. The Deep Creep [tm] was just the Seafoam in a spray form. “Cweep” was easier to say at first than “Seafoam” so naturally “Creep” later on was just easier to say what you meant when using this product; spray or liquid, makes no never mind, its “Creep”.
Besides squirting and spraying more fun than pouring in the learning stages of fixing engines, getting something rusty to let loose , and besides you cannot pour something "up" anyway - even a kid knows that!
Amazing how a kid can get Seafoam all over a lawnmower and miss the carburetor, now that red extension tube, well phooey, even a kid can hit a carb with this stuff most times...
Sometimes a Grandkid being held up to hinges "up there" with that spray Creep...Grandson's do this better than Grandpa's on step ladders - everybody knows that!
Hoppe’s #9 was used on guns of course- had a nice smell too. Hard to say which smelled better, Hoppe’s # 9 or Seafoam, but for a kid a bigger can was better…besides it had red lettering, to match his wagon and tricycle, and there was that red extension tube on the spray version...
Grandpa had used “Creep” to get carbon out of guns, get moisture off them, get a screw loose that was rusty, so if Grandpa did it, must be right!
Amazing how well empty “Creep” cans fixed wagons, bikes, garden hoes…the dog…
Grandma would peer out and miss the paper sack of flour, salt and pepper the chicken was supposed to hit…eyes filled with tears of laughter does that...Grandson' s have a way producing memories, tears, and the chicken pieces just plum miss a sack...
Grandson out running around out back with his empty cans of “Creep” lubricating the clothes line poles, wagons, shed hinges, tricycles, the dog's tail…
Amazing what all a kitchen window over the kitchen sink affords a Grandma a view of...
Grandma had learned that an empty can of “Creep” makes it easier to pull up green onions…who says one cannot learn from a Grandson?
--
Grandson would sit and watch Grandpa with elbows on a shop table, chin in hands and work on guns or small engines. His job was to “Creep it”, just sometimes Grandpa did not Creep enough in his opinion, been at least 3 minutes since he last got to spray something…
Now the full cans kept safe, empty cans were Grandson’s. If raining and such, you stacked them, played Cowboy & Indians, or Army…
When the rain quit, there was all that stuff that needed "Creepin"...
Of course now Grandpa had a place to shoot out back, He liked this, seeing a gun fixed and being tested was great, especially a gun he helped fix.
Now it was cool when Grandpa and he would shoot that old single shot .22 rifle, or single shot shotgun and knock tin cans off that fence. He was not very big, but was going to get bigger soon enough and be able to shoot by himself some day…until that time came- Grandpa would hold the gun, and from Grandpa’s lap and with his little finger on Grandpa’s helped the “tigger” go back enough to make the gun go “bang”. He was the bestest helper, Grandparent’s sure seem to need a lot of help though…
Standing there with that little boy look , scrunched up nose, index finger in pouty mouth- Grandson did not fully understand “inheriting” but from the grin and Grandpa’s tone it was a good thing. He just nodded his head and hugged Grandpa. This seemed to make whatever Grandparents say, well, Grandparents are easy to train.
--
Grandma heard the blood curdling screams of Grandson. Wiped her hands on her Apron, and ran out to where the shooting had stopped out back.
Grandson was just a hollering, tears streaming down his face, snotty nose just a snottin’ up, blubberin’ more blubber, chest just a heaving, then not breathing, catch, catch, catch then finally a breath and then go at it again.
Grandma looked at Grandpa; Grandpa had that caring, but firm look he had about him.
Rite of Passage had just taken place, sometimes these hurt just bit, some hurt a bit more than others.
Grandmas lap, her apron producing a washrag to blow a nose in, wipe a face, and a band-aid for boo-boo that did not exist- made matters a bit better.
Grandma set Grandson down, Grandpa extended his hand and together these two walked out to the fence, the single shot broke open, spent hull lying next to it on another workbench in a safe direction.
Some tears had reappeared, wittle sniffle still heard, as they came back in; and that all but good peppered empty liquid Seafoam can was set on the table.
Now Grandson had learned rules about guns and how dangerous they were. He had seen where Grandpa has shot squirrels and rabbits; he had seen tin cans peppered and fly way off the fence.
Just the lessons had been more deeply ingrained when Grandpa has set HIS “Creep” on that fence, handed him that single shot shotgun and given a go ahead to shoot it.
Somehow being HIS "Creep" had more ragged holes, and flown farther off the fence. I mean he knew the gun was dangerous, knew stuff shot with one got hurt or kilt…just…just this was different, a whole ‘nuther level had been learned. Grandpa had intentionally wanted to instill something…with care and all, still wanted to make darn sure these lessons would not be forgotten…
--
Seems milk and cookies makes things better in Grandma’s kitchen, does not fix everything, don’t hurt either.
Grandpa came in with a box made of wood and glass, inside was his liquid can of Seafoam…or as he still called it “Creep” and that one spent hull. This here box was for remembering a lesson that hopefully would never be forgotton, the fact it would keep sharp ragged edges from cutting a Grandkid was an added thought out bonus...
All three went into the bedroom where Grandson stayed and Grandpa put HIS Creep in a sealed rememberance on a shelf.
Funny how that particular spot on the shelf was seen from no matter where you were in that room, or passing that room going down the hall when the door was open.
Grandson's getting older and constantly being reminded is a good thing...
--
Voices were heard in the house, then little footsteps, then a little knock on the door.
Dad was cleaning and inspecting the house defense shotgun. “Daddy, I’m sorry, I messed up and left my truck out in rain. I…I know I was told not to…I'm sorry ...”
Dad set the boy in his lap, moist eyes and a finger touching a pouty lip, just like it was said he did as a boy. Sure enough the rust had set in and the wheels on the toy truck would not spin.
“Creep it daddy?”
“Yes son, daddy will Creep it, now go on and get ready for bed, I’ll be in with you and Mom in a second”
Dad returned from the nightly ritual, entered the locked room where he reloaded shells and worked on guns.
He checked the chamber on the House Defense Shotgun, before finishing what started earlier.
“Creep it Grandpa!”
Copyright 2006 – Phil Carson
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