Grandpa Thatcher

Okay, so previous posts have been about my mother's parents/steparent. Now we turn to my dad's side.

Grandpa Thatcher was a carpenter by trade. He seemed very old from the time I was little. I think he was born in the 1890s or something, so by the time I was born he was almost 60. Since we lived in the valley and he lived in LA, we didn't see him more than once a month. Usually we would go to his house to visit. Very often we made a day of it. Dad would go to the police academy to "qualify" (pass a shooting test) and then we'd head over to grandpa's house. Sometimes when we went there, we would all go to Phillipi's for yummy French Dip sandwiches or to Chinatown for dinner. I don't ever remember having a meal at my grandpa's house.

I don't think he was a very happy man. He was nice enough to us kids and to my parents, but just seemed withdrawn and unhappy.

My dad's mom had died when my dad was just four years old. Grandpa was left with three children to raise: my dad, my Aunt Betty who was about three, and Uncle Floyd who was just a baby. This would have been right at the start of the Great Depression, so trying to raise three little kids by himself and somehow provide for them must have seemed overwhelming.

He wasn't particularly nurturing in raising them. He was a stern disciplinarian, and sometimes abusive from what I understand.

He never remarried, but for as long as I can remember he had a "girlfriend" that we called "Grandma Holliday." She was a nice lady as far as I can remember. She always remembered us at Christmastime and on special occasions. I'm not sure why they never married.

He apparently came to the Lord right before he died in 1966. When he died, it was one of the few times in my life I ever saw my father cry. It was heartbreaking.