3.4 Robert Judson Writing 1

 

 Life Lessons from a 5-foot 4-inch Giant 

 

My Godfather was a Marine, a harmonica player, a bird watcher, and an all-around badass, and he taught me to stand up tall. He stood tall at a whopping 5-foot 4-inches but had the attitude of a 10-foot giant. This is a memory I will never forget from a 5-foot 4-inch giant.

 

My Godfather, who I will refer to by name (Stan), was an influential part of my early life. He came to the U.S as a baby in 1915 from Poland and grew up in downtown New York. He fought in WW2 as a Marine and eventually moved his family to a small town in New Mexico for a fresh start after the war. Stan was introduced to my dad and helped him overcome his drug addiction. Once I was born, my dad knew he needed help raising me, so Stan and Elly (Stan's wife) became my godparents.

 

I spent a lot of time at my godparent's house. They loved having me around, and I loved being there. I can vividly remember the way the house smelled and how Stan would snore as he fell asleep watching Larry King. Stan Elly and I would sit at their 1970's turquoise green table and play poker with a steep buy-in price of 20 toothpicks. The time I had with Stan was magical; he let me be a boy and gave me the tools to be a man. He would take me on adventures, sometimes fishing, sometimes to the store, but one day we went to a ranch, and this is where the start of one of my favorite memory begins. 

 

I was 11 years old, and I stayed with Stan and Elly over the summer. Stan had a friend that owned a ranch not too far outside of town. Stan would take me out to the ranch and let me loose on all the soon-to-be terrified animals while he drank coffee with the rancher. As I was playing, one of the german shepherds named Samson attacked me. Stan saw what was going on and ran across the yard. As the dog was on top of me, I felt the weight of the animal lift off and Stan scooping me up off the ground. He looked at me wide-eyed, asking, "are you ok?" I was fine for the most part, but as I walked away, Stan noticed blood running down my leg. I had a cut behind my knee from the attack, and it was deep. Stan asked the rancher for some paper towels and duct tape. As Stan was patching me up, the rancher told Stan that there is a veterinarian just down the road that's a good friend of his "I think he's home if you want to get the boy patched up quick." So we got in the truck, and off we went.

 

 Once we arrived at the veterinarian's house, Stan took the makeshift bandage off to show the vet. "Yep, that's going to need stitches," the vet said, "at least six." I'll never forget the vet; he sounded like Cheech Marin and was about 300 pounds. There were no animals at his place, and in hindsight, letting a vet work on you that has no animals should be concerning. "Well, little man, Are you going to let me fix you up?" asked the vet. I had no idea what was about to take place, but I knew I trusted Stan. I nodded, and the vet took the table cloth off the kitchen table and told me to climb up while he gets a few things. When he came back, I saw the needles and made eye contact with the vet. "listen here, primo; if you don't cry, I will let you eat all the ice cream in my freezer." stunned, I asked, "How much ice cream do you have?"

 

As the vet patched me up, Stan sat across from me, holding my face and not breaking eye contact. Once the vet was done, Stan looked at me and said, "I am so proud of you." In one day, Stan saved me from a dog, got me patched up, and told me how proud he was of me. This memory has never left me. When we got home, Stan told Elly the whole story. Elly gave both of us a big hug and said, "I love my crazy men!" I have so many stories about Stan, but they all come to the same conclusion. Stan let me see how a man stands tall in the face of adversity. He would tell me, "Listen, boy, you are a giant, so stand up straight" He was a true giant at only 5-foot 4-inches tall.