The Great Outdoors: Three-hand Squeezes
Sometimes, certain things in life change not just your life, but also the lives of others forever. That happened in the life of our son, Kelly, and his wife Lexi, who live on a small farm in Wisconsin.
They could not have children of their own, so they decided to adopt. The adoption agency showed them a picture of a little baby boy in Guatemala who needed a home.
They got on a plane and came home with our grandson, whom they named Ty, all wrapped up in a blanket. It was Father’s Day 2006. Kelly always says it was a Father’s Day he will never forget.
A few years later, they flew back to Guatemala to bring home Ty’s half-brother, whom they named Sam. They have both been a blessing to our son and daughter-in-law, as well as the rest of our family and her family.
When they were young, I would tell them I love you, but they did not understand what I was saying. So, I would take their little hand in mine and squeeze it three times. I told them that the three hand squeezes mean I LOVE YOU. They eventually smiled and squeezed my hand back three times. They didn’t do it with anyone else, just their Papa. That means the world to me.
Our three-hand squeezes continued when Grandma and I would travel to Wisconsin to visit. They were always standing at the window, waiting for us to arrive, and would come running out the door and jump into our arms.
We would go to their cabin on the lake for fishing and fun in the water. Papa always had to help them catch a fish or play in the water with them. They would sit on their dad’s lap, helping him drive the boat.
Back at the farm, we would shoot the pellet rifles or the bow and arrows I bought for them. I would help them gather eggs from the chickens and feed the sheep. We would climb trees and build forts.
During summer, we spent a lot of time in their swimming pool and squirting each other with the garden hose. Papa always had to swing them in the swing or catch them when they came down the sliding board.
They loved it when Grandma and Papa took them out to eat, went to their karate classes, made trips to the park, attended their baseball and soccer games, and took them shopping for Legos, Godzilla or other toys.
We had a great time at the apple orchard in the fall and went to the Christmas tree farm in the winter. Mom would let them pick out that year’s Christmas tree, and Dad would help them cut it down and drag it to the car.
When it was time for us to go back home to Missouri, they would stand in the window waving goodbye as we left for home. It was hard to leave them. They always had to give me my three-hand squeezes before I left and hug Grandma’s neck. It was always a quiet drive home. Grandma and I would always want to turn around and go back.
They would all come to Missouri to spend time with us at our cabin. They fished, hiked, played in the water and rode ATVs through the fields and forests. Our Missouri son, his wife and our other grandkids, Hunter and Anna, came, too. We built campfires and cooked s’mores. I always got my three hand squeezes.
They did not do that with anyone else. They only did that with me. It was our own special thing. I did start doing the three-hand squeezes with my wife. She would smile and squeeze my hand back three times.
When they both started high school, our son told me not to expect the three-hand squeezes anymore. He said they were teenagers now and too cool to be doing something like that with their Papa. I thought to myself that at least I would always have the memories.
A month or so later, Grandma and I drove to Kansas for the wedding of our Missouri grandson, Hunter. He attended Kansas State University, where he met his soon-to-be wife. Grandma and I were standing at one end of the building when our Wisconsin grandsons and our son and daughter-in-law came in the door.
When the teenage young men saw us, they ran across the room and hugged their grandma. They jumped on me, and I wrestled with them. Ty was the first to reach down and take my hand. He squeezed it three times. Sam took my other hand and squeezed it three times. I had to wipe a few tears away.
Life changed. They got busy. In high school, Ty played football and competed in track. Sam got into music and played in the band. Girls became more important than Grandma and Papa. Trips to Wisconsin became fewer, and so did trips to Missouri.
Mom and Dad took them to Guatemala to see where they were born and to meet their birth mom and other family. They started taking vacations together as a family to national parks all over America.
When both of them graduated from high school, Mom asked them what they wanted as a graduation present. Both times, they said they wanted their brother, her and Dad to go visit another national park.
They are both now in college and working at jobs. We don’t see them much. We have many memories of the good times from all those years.
Three years ago, our Kelly started a battle with cancer that still goes on today. We make trips back to Wisconsin to be with him. He tells everyone he can that whatever they are going through, take it one day at a time and put it in God’s hands. He has been an inspiration to people all over America who know of the battle he still fights.
I do the announcements at our church on Sundays. When I finish and say a prayer, I raise my hand in the air and squeeze it three times in front of everyone there and those watching online. Many know the story of the three-hand squeezes, and they do it back to me. I then raise my hand to God and squeeze it three times.
I still text back and forth with our Ty and Sam. There is one thing that has not changed. At the bottom of every text message from them to me and every text message from me to them is always emojis of three-hand squeezes.
SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT
“Grandparents hold our hands for just a little while, but our hearts forever.”
- Unknown
Missouri native Larry Whiteley has been communicating the great outdoors across America for over 40 years through newspapers, magazines, books, blogs and a nationally syndicated radio show. To read more of his award-winning stories, go to www.storiesbylarry.com. Email him at larrywhiteley2@gmail.com.
