The Storyteller

Anyone who met my father-in-law, Jon Johnson, even briefly knew almost immediately that he loved to tell a good story. Those of us who knew Jon well probably heard most of his stories – many of us heard his favorites multiple times. After a while we didn’t bother trying to interrupt him to mention that we’d heard a particular one before. We learned: If Jon wanted to tell a story, the story would be told.

No one loved Jon’s stories more than his grandkids, and they never tired of them, not even the repeats. From the time they could talk, Noah and Rowan would plant themselves in Papa’s lap – one boy on the left knee, one boy on the right – lean against his chest and beg for a story, sometimes even two or three times a day. I don’t know how he did it, one fantastical yarn after another, but Papa never declined the opportunity to spin a tale. Snuggled into the wing chair or piled onto the hammock, the boys would listen with rapt attention, oblivious to everything else around them.

Eager for a few minutes of free time, I usually didn’t linger to catch more than a snippet or two, so I can’t tell you exactly what Jon’s stories were about. I do recall a frequent mention of pirates and the occasional mummy, and once or twice we did suggest he go a little easy at bedtime, even if the boys begged for the “scariest one ever.”

The last time the boys and I saw Jon in late December, he was too ill to participate in most of his typical shenanigans: chase games and tickling, couch pillow forts, '50s dance parties and root beer floats. At one point, though, when neither Papa nor the boys could be found, we finally discovered them tucked into the walk-in closet.

 “Shhhh! Go away!” Rowan admonished when I peered into the dark.

“Just wondering what you guys are doing in here,” I said, stepping one foot into the closet.  In the dimness I glimpsed three bodies buried beneath a mound of pillows and blankets near the back.

“We’re fine, Mommy, we’re fine,” Noah said. “Papa’s just telling us a story.”

We’ll sure miss you and your stories, Jon, even the ones we’ve heard before…. especially the ones we’ve heard before. Most of all, we are so very grateful to have been a part of your story.

{29 Days of Quiet will resume tomorrow. Thank you for grace...and prayers. Jon passed away yesterday. We will miss him dearly - he was the light of my kids' lives.}