I can’t think of too many people in my life that I experienced love from more than Grandpa Simmons. But strangely I seldom if ever remember grandpa verbally telling me that he loved me. Instead, the common pattern nearly every time I walked in his home was a simple and strong encouragement to pass by the deep freeze and get myself an ice cream bar or any time I'd find him in the field on the tractor he would stop and make sure I had my time behind the wheel. These were a few among many ways a pre-adolescent Indiana kid received love.
And somehow I was able to clearly sense that love without him getting to the point of verbalizing those three words.
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