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Galen (lyrics)
I may have once sat on my grandpa’s lap.
But I can’t recall when, try as I might.
We even shared a roof for much of my youth,
And we were many things, but never tight.We never played catch, never went fishing.
Never went for walks in the woods.
He never once said, I love you, grandson.
At least not in a way… that I understood.A preacher first, he was married to his church,
But doing husband and dad, that all came second.
A dispassionate man, my mother always said of him,
But I don’t know, how could he reconcileNever playing games, never going to the movies.
Never taking her on walks in the woods.
He never once told her, I love you, daughter.
At least not in words… that she ever heard.He was a man of faith
He lived life by the book.
And I don’t doubt it guided
Every step that he took.
“Teach by example,” he would say,
“Because words can be empty anyway.
It’s what we believe that refines us.
It’s what we do that defines us.”So when in ‘91 he says to me: “Grandson,
C’mon… Let’s go walk in the woods.”
He said, “For six generations, to your mom, through me,
There’s been a preacher, you know… in our family.”We’d never played catch, and then he throws me that curve.
On that awkward walk in the woods.
But looking back, I think he was just saying I love you.
Just not in a way… that I understood.
—
After all this time, I now recognize
That as a child I didn’t know how
To love someone who couldn’t bring himself
To say “I love you” out loud.And now I’m grown, with kids of my own,
Raising them the best that I can.
God, I hope that when I say “I love you,”
I say it in a way… that they’ll understand.
Lyrics: © 2005-2024, by Austin Kaufmann
Recording: © 2025 Austin Kaufmann, All rights reserved.
Purchase/Share/Download the audio:
The Origin Story
Galen Johns, my grandfather on my mother’s side, was a Mennonite pastor. For much of my childhood, he and my grandma lived on the other half of the duplex that I grew up in, in New Paris, Indiana, so we had ample opportunity to build a close relationship.
We didn’t though. We just never connected or spent time together, despite living under the same roof.
Now I can confidently say that Grandpa was a good person by most estimations, and certainly by any moral standard. He was a preacher, first and foremost, and he’d give the shirt off his back to someone in need. (Metaphorically anyway. I don’t think Grandpa’s sense of modesty would have ever led him to be shirtless anywhere but the privacy of his own bedroom.)
Small Mennonite churches in rural Indiana don’t pay well, though, so at various times in his life he was additionally — as I understand it — a self-employed home HVAC technician, a choir director, a school principal, a conversion van delivery driver, and in his younger years, a general store shop clerk, who could reportedly add up customers’ bills effortlessly in his head, only using an adding machine for proof if a customer challenged his accuracy.
He was also a very stoic man, as I recall him. Games and sports — activities that figured very prominently in my own life as a kid — were completely outside his interest and comfort zone. I recall conversations being perfunctory, transactional. Never mean, but also never warm. Never unkind, but also never kind.
At least not in a way… that I understood.
In fact, I think the only time I ever saw Grandpa impassioned was when he was leading the family in singing grace before a holiday dinner. There’d be maybe 20 of us gathered, standing, around the laden table, and Grandpa would go full choir director mode on us, his tenor voice passionately belting out:
We thank Thee Lord for this, our food,
God is love, God is love.
But more because of Jesus’s blood,
God is love. God is love.
These mercies bless and grant that we
May eat and drink and live with Thee,
May eat and drink and live with Thee.
God is love, God is love.
Naturally, I liked the signing — my aunts, uncles, cousins, siblings and parents sliding easily into 4-part harmonies. But I felt the “Jesus’s blood” bit was just too creepy for a dinner prayer. And I distinctly recall being completely baffled as to how Grandpa — the same Grandpa who never showed emotion about anything — could speak emotionally about how much this song meant to him and launch into it with fervent gusto.
Beyond that rare glimpse into Grandpa’s apparently passionate faith, he was as my mother described him: “dispassionate.”
—
In the summer of 1991, I would have been 15 years old. And I believe that was the year when Grandpa took me for that “awkward walk in the woods” and dropped the not-so-subtle hint that he hoped that I, too, might follow the Johns family tradition of becoming a preacher.
I honestly don’t know how many generations back the line of preachers goes in the Johns family. “Six” was just poetic license. It may only be four, but it honestly wouldn’t surprise me if it was six, or even more.
Regardless, I do remember thinking in that awkward moment, “You, Grandpa, have just guaranteed the tradition won’t survive my generation if you’re counting on me.” I had enough respect for my elders, however, to keep my thoughts to myself and just offer a non-committal shrug.
Though I did not recognize it at the time, in hindsight, I think it was the highest compliment my grandfather could have given me. It was simply his awkward way of saying, “I love you."
I suppose it has taken me just as long to figure out how to say “I love you” back.
Through song.
Before I go…
There are two versions of this song, and I usually play the shorter version in live performances. (Note the break in the lyrics above.) However, in the recording embedded above, I sing the extended ending in which I reframe my reflection on my grandpa in relation to my own parenting.
I’m curious: what do you think? Keep the extended ending, or keep it brief?
New Music Announcement
Last month, The Dangling Participles released a single, “Carousel,” and it is now available via both The Dangling Participles’ Bandcamp page and our official Dang Ps website.
“Carousel” was written and composed by my bandmate Tamiko May (Rothhorn), and the song explores the idea of how we — consciously or unconsciously — often find ourselves going “round and round” in circles. Even when we strive to make changes in our lives and in our world, we can feel helpless, bridled, stuck in patterns or systems that doesn’t make change easy. Yet we know it’s “time to wake up” all of us “horses on the carousel.”
A small aside:
“Carousel” is also available on streaming platforms, but The Dangling Participles and I value your direct support and the personal connection. I encourage you to consider where you spend your music money. (For example, the industry leader, Spotify, uses its profit to invest in companies that develop military strike drones and AI systems, and it was only after months of public outcry that they reluctantly stopped advertising for ICE on its platform.)
This post is public so feel free to share it with a friend, a parent, a grandparent…
Upcoming Shows
Saturday, March 7 • 7:00-10:00PM
The Dangling Participles (Full Band)
Ironbark Brewing Company, Jackson, MI
Thursday, March 12 • 5:30-8:30PM
The Dangling Participles (Full Band)
Horrock’s Farm Market, Lansing, MI
Saturday, March 20 • 7:30PM
The Dangling Participles (Duo)
The Coffeehouse at All Saints
All Saints Episcopal Church, East Lansing, MI
Saturday, March 28 • 7:00-10:00PM
The Dangling Participles (Duo)
Side Bar East Lansing, East Lansing, MI
Sunday, March 30 • 4:00-5:00PM
Austin Kaufmann (Solo)
Fellowship for Today, Lansing, MI
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