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I grew up in a small town and was teased for having a Polish last name. I have heard every Polish joke ever made and still live to tell the tale. My Dad embraced being Polish by having **The Polish Prince** written on his business cards. It fit. He was a prince among men. 

I survived the bullying by telling the truth. My Dad was of Polish descent, my Mom was of German descent, and my brother was of French descent. I was of Bohemian descent. With those actual facts said, I would walk away with a smile on my face, with groups of people wondering how this could be.

My family didn't save anything.


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My Father in Law

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My Village was filled with German last names and buildings that will forever stand the test of time, thanks to the German masons who built them. We have some of the best limestone quarries available, as well as a large quantity of fieldstone. A German Mason's dream.

On the other side of town, my husband's family moved into the same Village where I lived. His family was of German descent. They fit right in. My father-in-law was a Tool and die maker, as his father was before him. This meant he kept everything made of metal or wood, because you never knew when you might need a bit of steel to create a tool to make a screw for the screw you had lost for your vacuum.

When I married, my son and I moved into my husband's house, which he already owned. There is a giant old maple tree in the back of our yard where you can go to cool off on a hot Summer's day. As mentioned a few posts back, my husband loves his yard, and each year the newly grown grass dies under that giant maple tree.


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Finally, one year, while working part-time driving a dump truck for a friend who owned a topsoil company, he started bringing home rocks. Now the rocks he brought home were large ones, but pretty too. I never said a word about the new rocks that began to fill my backyard because.... It's a pretty rock. What is a rock going to hurt? Nothing.

Slowly, over the next few years, while Hubby was working part-time delivering dirt and rocks to other people's houses, I came home one day to find my driveway filled with a small dump truck's load of rocks. Small rocks to be sure, but rocks nonetheless. I looked at my husband and, holding back a smile, listened to his tale.

You see, while delivering topsoil and mulch to other people's houses, he slowly saw how small changes could have a significant impact. He finally realized he could make his life easier by creating a rock garden surrounding the maple tree. He worked one whole Summer in his spare time digging up the lawn there. More rocks saw their way home with him after a shift of dumping soil.



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I would watch him from the kitchen window, moving the bigger rocks around *just so*. He would stand back, and more shuffling would go on until he had it perfect in his eyes. 

It made me happy to see him being creative. I made sure I never said a word because I didn't want to jinx it. He was being creative for the first time in his life and enjoying it.

Hubby finally got the rock garden good enough to show his father. Back in the kitchen, I was listening in as the two proceeded to talk about the merits of rocks and lawns. Father and son talked about rocks for over an hour. I have to admit I giggled a bit.

I laughed even harder when, after Hubby returned home from taking his Dad back to his house, he proceeded to tell me that his Dad had been hoarding fieldstone rocks under his garage stairs and now he was going to pass those fieldstone rocks on to his son for his rock garden.



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There is no higher praise than a father willing to part with something he had been hoarding for twenty years to his son because his son proved that he knew what he was doing when it came to placing rocks. A sentiment I heard each summer from my father-in-law after that.

To most, the small rock garden under the maple tree appears to be just that. A small, pretty decoration. To me, looking at that rock garden, I see the father proud of his son and showing him the only way an old German man can, by giving up part of his stash of *things he might need one day.*

For a man who never hugged others, until my son, who grew up being hugged, became his Grandson, those hoarded rocks were his way of showing how proud he was of my husband. It still melts my heart each time I see those rocks.


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This is my post for the Hive Community Activity. More information can be found in the original post [Hive Community Activity #1 | Rock(s)](https://hive.blog/hivecommunityactivity/@snook/hive-community-activity-1-or-rocks).

Let's bring back fun interactions with the community!!

Make your post as fun or as serious as you would like. Let's see how many community members we can get to play along!!

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## Help someone smile today. It can not hurt you.

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# Snook 

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All photos are mine unless otherwise stated.

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