Descriptive Essay About My Grandfather

Grandpa. “Welcome,” I sighed, extremely tired after an annoyingly simple troubleshooting that my Grandpa made fifty times more complicated, as per usual. I was ready for a break. I slumped upstairs and face-planted into the bed; it seemed to be the perfect time for a nap. Five minutes pass, and I began drifting off to sleep.… “DAVID... I NEED HELP”, shouts a voice from below. Fiddlesticks. My grandfather is a mess. Not a mess literally (although he can be), he’s just all over the place. His attire

My Papa was the greatest man I have ever known. He portrayed the perfect American man: he was a Navy veteran who continued to serve his country by riding his motorcycle in the Patriot Guard. To me, he was god-like--there was no question he could not answer and no problem he could not solve. He could cook anything, build anything, do anything. His heart overflowed with selflessness. He set aside his own problems to listen to mine. He always helped his neighbors clean their yards or change their oil;

Grandad My grandfather was a disorganized workaholic, a good listener, and a brave man. He was, according to one of his students, “… the Indiana Jones of linguistics.” I love that man because of what I have learned about him. I knew my grandfather when he was sick, but like many Parkinson’s patients, he had been changed by his illness, so when I knew him, he seemed more like a moving body than a person. When I was born, his sense of direction had already left, his muscles had already started

Grandfather, Dearest and Wise Grandparents are the backbone of every family tree. They provide love and nourishment, and even an escape when your annoying parents are getting on your nerves. When your parents say no to junk food, they feed you chocolate chip cookies and M&Ms. Huh. That must be your grandparents. While my grandfather, Henry Malachowski, is still the backbone of the Malachowski clan, he provides me with some of life’s most essential lessons. My grandpa is someone I can depend on

My grandfather was a disorganized workaholic, a good listener, and a brave man. He was, according to one of his students, “… the Indiana Jones of linguistics.” I love that man because of what I have learned about him. I knew my grandfather when he was sick, but like many Parkinson’s patients, he had been changed by his illness, so when I knew him, he seemed more like a moving body than a person. When I was born, his sense of direction had already left, his muscles had already started to stiffen

Having a grandfather is like having a best friend. My grandfather was that figure for me, I called him Pop; he was my mother's father. Pop was always there for me, being a listener and an advice giver. Pop and I connected unlike any other family member I had because he always believed in me and supported everything I did. This support started ever since I was little playing sports and any activities I was engaged in. "Our relationship was unbreakable," my grandmother would always say. Having Pop

quote written under my grandpa’s senior picture in his yearbook. Benjamin Frederick Kolbe, my grandpa, was born on October 2, 1935, in the Winner hospital. If my grandpa could sum up high school, he would advise everyone to have an enjoyable time and to participate in many activities. Because my grandpa is funny and outgoing, I wanted to see what his high school experience was like. I chose my grandpa because of his satisfying humor and wonderful personality; I wanted to hear about his high school life

(My Grandfather) I remember two striking images from the afternoon I left Michigan at age five. The first is an image of my grandfather crying as I left my grandparents' house in my parent’s car, with the sun setting in the distance. Second is a little glass bottle that my grandfather gave me that day, filled with some dirt off the street and a little note inside, with "never forget your homeland" etched onto the glass in faded calligraphy. To this day, I still keep that little glass bottle in a

sinister whisper of the wind gently kissing the hairs on the back of my neck, sending a chill through my body. My mother smiled at me with tear filled eyes and a baby inside of her. Whether I knew it or not my life was about to change. My younger sister is asleep, & my aunt next to me, I hate the feel of the texan air. It’s so dry and the clouds are beginning to darken, we’re told a big storm is ahead of us. I am 3 years old, my sister is exactly 1 year & 1 month. Katrina, katrina, katrina; who was

hand, was about to cross the border. I am one of the millions who had to go through this situation. The month of August was about to end, but in my life, a whole new journey was about to begin. It was 2004 I was with my grandpa he hugs me while we are talking I felt his love towards me in his big warm hands that were wrapped around my shoulder, home is where I was. Little did I know that I won’t be seeing my Abuelo and Abuela for the next 13 years. They hugged me one last time and my grandpa gave