Floyd's Birthday

Today is my Grandpa Davis's birthday. He was born in 1901. Floyd William Davis. For some reason I always remember that today is his birthday. I used to think it was just a coincidence, or that maybe I'm good with dates. But as I'm getting older, I feel that he is close to me. That he knows what I'm doing, how I'm feeling, my ups and downs. My successes and failures. That he cheers me on with my other family members who are on the other side of the veil.

He was always bald and gray in my mind. He loved angel food cake. He loved meatloaf and my grandma's fried chicken with cream gravy and a piece of corn on the cobb. Maybe that's where I get that from! He always wore glasses. He had a very square, full face and when he smiled it took over. He was NO nonsense. Didn't have time or the patience for it. His kisses were always wet and slobbery. A Daddo Floyd kiss!

He drove a Renault when I was a little girl growing up. I thought he was the coolest person ever driving that standard transmission with such ease. I can still hear the shifting in my mind. He did not abide disobedience of any kind. But he loved so tenderly. He always had trouble with his legs. He was in the grocery business and had his own mom and pop store and a delivery semi truck ran over his legs and the damage was such that he walked with a limp and had trouble for the rest of his life.

He hated steak. If he had a piece of beef it had to be WELL cooked. When he was on horseback as a forest ranger very young in his life, he had an appendicitis attack. He had to have his appendix out on the trail with no anesthetic! The only thing the other rangers could do was give him a raw steak to bite on for the pain during surgery. I get chills just thinking about that. That experience with meat stayed with him for all the rest of his life.

He loved dogs with everything he had in him. When he was a teenager, a litter of pups was born to the family hunting dog. His dad was going to kill the runt. Daddo Floyd begged for it's life. His dad wasn't happy about this runt using what resources needed to go to the other animals, but relented. Floyd nursed that pup and and Vim turned out to be one of the best hunting dogs they had. He named him Vim after the phrase 'Vim and Vigor', since he was so weak and turned out so strong.

He was a great example of the gospel. I never knew him to struggle with his testimony, ever. He was a convert as a young adult and never wavered. I remember a story he told me once about priesthood blessings: He was the Elder's Quorum President before I was even born and there was a family in his ward where the wife/mother was very, very ill. He stopped by to see how they were doing and had a very strong prompting to counsel the husband to give his wife a blessing and she would be completely healed. The husband said he would think about doing it, maybe later. He was stubborn and angry with God for his wife's sickness. The next morning, the husband called him sobbing to say that his wife was dead and he should have followed the counsel of his priesthood leader. He knew that if he had she would be alive. He sobbed bitter tears of regret. My grandpa looked me straight in the eyes and said, "Cindy, always follow the counsel of your leaders. They will never steer you wrong. And the power of the priesthood is REAL!" Then he went back to reading his newspaper in the living room of the duplex on 21st street in Manhattan Beach.

I've never forgotten it. Thanks, Daddo. Love you!