Grandpa Kyle

I'm still occasionally migrating posts from my blog that is no more.  This one was first posted June 25, 2009.

Today I happened to drive past the cemetery where my grandfather is buried.  I haven’t been there since the funeral, now almost 18 months ago.  I’ve thought a lot about him lately, nothing in particular, just random memories and stories.  I decided to pull in and spend a minute.

For the past few weeks, I’ve toyed with the idea of posting the talk I gave at his funeral.  In the end, I decided to wait until one of the two dates on his headstone.  As I stood there at his graveside and thought for a few minutes about this man, I figured today was as good a time as any.


Kyle Ballard Sorensen

December 1, 1922 - January 11, 2008

Hello, for the benefit of those of you who don't know me, my name is Clark K Y L E Graff.  I am the oldest of Kyle and Leone's grandchildren.  My mother, Kyleen, was also named after her dad.  Accordingly, she often refers to herself as his oldest son.  I too have followed this family tradition by giving my oldest child the middle name of Kylee.

This past week, I have reflected often on the intertwining of each of our lives.  Each of us share strands that bind us together.  These shared ties and strands may include: a family name, common ancestors, or a common faith in Jesus Christ and His restored Gospel.  In this group there are many of these intertwining strands.  Today we celebrate the life of Kyle Sorensen, a man known and loved by each of us, whose life connects us and brings us all together today.

One of the first of the many ties, binding my heart to my grandfather, happened when I was 19 years old.  My family was living in Reno, Nevada and Grandma and Grandpa drove out for my mission farewell.  Later that night, I was set apart as a missionary and entrusted to the care of my Grandparents, who drove me the next day to Salt Lake City.  The way things worked out, I ended up spending about 10 days with Grandma and Grandpa before entering the MTC.  I assure you, Grandpa took his role as my first companion VERY seriously.  By the time I got to the MTC, I was thrilled to get a rest from all the studying.  

During this same ten days before my mission, I needed to buy some white dress shirts and a pair of dress shoes.  Grandpa volunteered to take me on what ended up being one of the longest days of my life.  We must have hit every men's clothing store in all of the downtown area.  We shopped all day and bought nothing.  Just when I had given up, Grandpa causally suggested we stop by Mr. Macs.

While I tried on shirts, Grandpa went to work on the salesman.  "Now, if we buy five of these shirts, what type of discount will you offer?  What if we buy seven?  What's your best price on this pair of shoes?  How about this pair?  How about this?  How about that?  What if we pay with cash?"  And so on.  He was relentless.  I was amazed.

By the time we were finally ready to go, the salesman's smile looked a little unnatural.  He gave us the grand total, including the discount Grandpa had already negotiated.

Grandpa replied with a simple question, "Is Mac here?"

Is Mac here?  I had no idea there was even a real Mac.

The clerk looked back at him, paused, and affirmed that Mac was indeed in the store.

"Tell him, Kyle Sorensen is here."

"Holy cow," I thought in amazement, "he is not done making deals yet."  Forcing back a smile, I stared at my grandpa.  He quickly smiled back at me and turned to watch as the salesman headed toward the back of the store.

The clerk was gone about a minute.  He stepped to the counter with a pleased smile on his face and announced an additional 10% off.  "My grandpa was a hero!"  Happy as could be, I pulled open my wallet.

Never taking his gaze from the salesman's eye, my grandpa reached over to me and put his hand over my open wallet.  He then repeated his last sentence, only, this time he carefully emphasized the two, most important words.

"Tell him,   K y l e   S o r e n s e n   is here."  He was cool and collected.  I about fell over.

The clerk was clearly flustered.  He paused, looked down, took a deep breath, and nodded.  Without a word he again headed to the back of the store.

After what seemed an hour, the salesman returned, the forced smile again on his face.  "Twenty-five percent?"  He was both making a statement and asking a question.  My grandfather paused thoughtfully, and nodded his approval.  The clerk relaxed a little.  And I quickly handed over the money.

As the clerk handed me the change, I glanced up at my grandpa.  He had a look I had never seen before.  His head was high, his gaze firm.  A very pleased expression had washed over his face.  His eyes were full of satisfaction, pride, and a hint of delight.  Together, Kyle Sorensen and I slowly walked from the store.

There were many qualities that made him a great negotiator and salesman.  But, some of these same qualities often made it difficult to get to know and love him.  In fact, I was pretty nervous around him for most of my childhood.  For me this started to change when I was in high school.  I was about 17 when I made my first unannounced visit to my grandparents’ home.  Through the years and the many visits that followed, I have come to think of my grandparents as friends, and, especially my grandpa, as a mentor.  I could always count on him to listen and to understand me, and also to share his wise and sound advice.  Sitting on the living room couch, with Grandma between us, a big bowl of ice cream on each of our laps, he would advise me on matters such as education, car purchases, marriage, business, church callings, and life in general.  The advice was always good and their support was something I could always count on.

It was also through these visits that I discovered that, like many people in this family, I am a lot like my grandpa.  Through the years, as I have explored the similarities between our personality types, I have learned much, not only about myself, but also about this man who has had, and will continue to have, so much influence on my life.  Because I am like him in many ways, it gives me insight regarding things he wasn’t good at showing.

Yes, he was tough and demanding, sometimes distant, and cold.  Yes, he always expected nothing less than perfection from himself and from those around him.  But, there were also times when he could be loving and even gentle, and at times would say or do something that made me realize he had very strong feelings for his family and for his Savior.

Now, this softer side did not show itself very often.  It was always a bit of a surprise, but, it was always welcome, and insightful.  Some of these experiences include: seeing him once sneak a kiss from Grandma, when he thought no one was looking.  My own children have fond memories of giggling and laughing as he hugged and tickled them.  Others for me were when he, more than once, caught Jake and me digging a huge hole in the back yard and came out, not to reprimand, but to offer engineering advice and ask if we had the correct tools for the job.

And my grandpa had lots of tools.  More tools than most men could ever need.  He loved his tools.  But, I think he really enjoyed giving them away as well.  One or two at a time, he gave them, through the years, as gifts to his visiting sons, grandsons and neighbors.

The day he died, it had snowed at my house.  After hearing the news, I came home and decided to clear some of the snow off our back deck.  Looking to the spot where I keep the snow shovels, I found two there, one with the name "Sorensen" the other with the initials "KBS" engraved on them.  Two, old, metal shovels that once belonged to him, that now belong to me.  Two simple ties that bind him to me.  I grabbed one and got to work.  I shoveled, and thought about my grandpa and some of the many other ties that bind me to him.  I would like to share two more of them with you.

When I went to the Temple for the first time, it was my Grandfather who sat beside me.  He was my escort, my teacher, my helper, my example.  Grandma was also there, and after the session, in the Celestial Room, the three of us talked quietly near the stairs.  Grandpa bore his testimony to me there, weeping openly as he spoke of the Savior.  I always knew he believed, but I did not know until then how strong his feelings were.  This experience, this memory, this tie between us has stayed with me all these years, and I hope to never forget it.

Another of these moments, that ties me to him, happened just two weeks ago.  I went to see him in the hospital.  He was looking pretty rough.  Not only that, he was talking and talking, but not really saying anything.  I could understand most of his words but none of the words made sense when used together.  I pretended to understand and, as best as I could, answered what seemed to be questions.  He was very agitated and frustrated.  He was telling me something, but I couldn’t tell what it was.  Three separate times I told him I was going now, and headed for the door.  But, so urgent was the tone of his speech, each time I came back again to his side.  His rambling continued with gestures toward the door or the television or whatever else happened to be directly in front of him at the time.

I'm quite sure he had no idea who I was.  In fact, I'm not sure he even knew where or who he was.  But one thing he did know, one thing he was willing and ready to share with any person who would listen.  That thing was his testimony.

And, it was then, there in the hospital, when it happened.  Three words.  Unmistakable.  Clear, and full of meaning.  "Church is true," he said, and was again immediately rambling on and on about nothing in particular.

So, while he physically seemed unsure or unaware, deep down, spiritually he knew exactly who he was.  Kyle Sorensen was a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.  My grandfather was, is and will always be a disciple of Him who's church he belonged to.

No, my grandfather was not a perfect man.  But he deeply loved and faithfully served that One who is perfect.  Countless hours of my grandfather’s life have been spent studying, writing, praying about and researching topics related to his religion.

There is a verse of scripture in Moroni, chapter ten, in the Book of Mormon, which I think is applicable here.  Verse 32 invites us to . . . come unto Christ, and be perfected in him . . . and if [we] . . . deny [ourselves] of all ungodliness, and love God with all [our] might, mind and strength, then is his grace sufficient for [each of us].  The scripture continues by saying, "that by his grace ye may be perfect in Christ; and if by the grace of God ye are perfect in Christ, ye can in nowise deny the power of God."

I am so thankful for this man I call Grandpa.  I am thankful for his life, his friendship, his help, his advice, his leadership, his example and his love toward me and my family.  Above all of these, his personal testimony, shared with me on several occasions, ties us firmly together and is of far more worth than anything else he ever did for me or gave to me.

Through the years there will be many, many opportunities for me to remember my own connections to this man.  Perhaps someday I will actually need a two foot long monkey wrench and find his initials engraved on it.  Or maybe I will be self-consciously and ineffectively backing out of an extremely difficult driveway, or shoveling an extra 6" of snow off the grass at my house, instead of just stopping at the edge of the concrete.  No matter the connection to my grandfather, I will think of the man I am named after and I will know that he was a believer, a true disciple of our Savior, Jesus Christ.

_ _ _

My Grandpa Sorensen was my mentor, my cheerleader, my sounding board and my friend.  Today I realized I will miss him more than I thought I would.


When I got home, the kids were playing a game on the computer.  It was a simple game, with a bottle tied to the end of a balloon.  As the balloon floated up into the sky, it pulled the bottle past flowers, floating in the air along the way.  The goal was to collect as many flowers as possible.  The game ended when the balloon slowed, and the bottle, now heavy with the collected bouquet, rested gently next to a gate, high up in the heavens.  A small gift for someone who now lives there.