Grandpa Hansen

When I think of the measure of a man, my Grandpa Hansen comes to mind. Perhaps that is because he is a man to measure all else against. I did not know my grandfather very well when he was alive, but was convinced that I was his favorite, and perhaps only, grandchild every time I was in his presence. He would sit me down and in his booming voice ask how everything was going. He would tell me how great and wonderful it all was, and how pleased he was to hear it. He calls to mind the thought of men of former days, the type they don't make anymore. I often picture him the way he was in what is perhaps my favorite photograph. He is standing on the bank of a river, a younger man, having just caught dinner for his family. The fish are strung up on a line that extends the entire length of his great arm span. The line is so long, that in order to keep it up, he had to grab it in the middle with his teeth. He looks like the quintessential mountain man, standing triumphantly in his element. There is a mountain peak named after his father that I have climbed. I think a fitting place for my grandfather’s mountain would be the one next to it. The peaks stands tall and daunting in the midst of lesser ones that span as far as the eye can see. Anyone traveling there, especially anyone wishing to reach the summit, is taken aback at the shear mass of what stands before them. One of the most prized things I have received from my grandfather is my last name, Hansen. The Book of Mormon speaks of the importance of names, and how they are a remembrance of all that we can, and should be. I have always taken a sense of pride in my last name. To me in represents strength and a higher calling, and that is in no small part due to the man from whom it hails. I have much to do in order to live up to him and to honor my heritage. He is a true mountain of a man.