Christian Andreas Hansen

-By Vera Hansen

He looked tall to me, tall and thin, with blue eyes and light brown hair. I remember my mother telling him quiet often that she was as tall as he, and then watching them stand with their backs together, placing a book on their heads to measure. “See,” she would say, “we are the same”, and he would remind her that it was her “bob” on top of her head, that if she did her hair differently, she wouldn’t be as tall as he. 

There was a twinkle in his eye, and he always seemed happy. I never remember him speaking a cross work to me.

He was hard working, and yet he had time for us. He taught us to count in Danish, to sing little songs (he had a fairly good singing voice), one I still remember signing with his was “Clementine”, and he taught us to do little slight of hand tricks.

He always had time to talk to a friend or neighbor, which at time irritated my mother, especially when she was waiting on him at mealtime. He would loan or give anything he had I believed. He was the type that, if asked for his coat he would give his cloak also. 

Especially do I remember watching him shave with his blade razor, and was always amazed how he could manage it so easily, without cutting his face.

As a child I was impressed how kind and gentle he was to his animals.

With pride I watched him conduct meetings. He looked so stately. I thought he was the most handsome man in the whole world.

During his illness he was so patient. He lived out of doors in a tent, since the doctors had told him to get lots of fresh air. It was my responsibility often to carry his tray of food out to him, and he never forgot to thank me. He was always so appreciative of every little thing we did for him. There were many, many large bottles of medicine that he took. His doctors had told him to drink lots of milk or cream. It seemed like he drank quarts and quarts of cream, and I wondered how he could do it. I disliked cream. Those were hard days for all of us. I think we all sensed that he would never be well again. I never remember hearing him complain. He tried to keep cheerful, and even at age seven, I felt like he tried to keep our spirits up, when it should have been us who tried to make things easier for him.