What Makes A Hero?

I think the person who has had the most profound effect on my life besides my parents is my grandfather. I never realized before how much of an effect he had on my interests and goals for the future. Years ago, he used to tell me stories about historical events and experiences he had fighting in Vietnam and my great grandfather fighting in World War 2. His vivid descriptions always made it so interesting and, in some cases, more light-hearted than what actually happened. To this day he still has more stories to tell me, and never fails to captivate my interest. In doing this, he opened my eyes to my biggest interest, history, and encouraged me to pursue this interest throughout school. I feel like it would help to give a short summary of his life and how it affected me.

There she is. Commanding the attention of all eyes as they enter the room. She is sturdy and she is practical. She is there for a purpose and does her job. She works the night shift and occasional days. She comforts the sick and tiered. She is full of admirable qualities. She possess the curves any woman would envy. She is a mixture of light and dark coloring. She is an antique. She is as sturdy and weathered as an old oak tree in the forest. She is polished but does not shine, and is scarred with the use of years. She has been with my great-grandmother for years. I am not sure when she first arrived because she has been with great-grandma my entire life. According to my Uncle she has been there for more than fifty years. She has remained steadfast through the years and different relationships have come and gone. She remains a family heirloom. She remains family.

A moment can be such a small amount of time but it can effect such a large part of your life. I was always very close to my grandma. My mom would always tell me that I would often times not want her when I was upset and I would only want my grandma. She had lived just a few minutes down the road from us. She was always there for me and I was always there for her. I would never call her grandma. I always called her “Mawmaw”. I had no clue what I would do without her. She meant so much to me. We would go out to eat together all of the time and we would also hang out at her house a lot.

Thursday July 13th, 2015. I spent that beautiful summer afternoon on my back porch with one of the best grandpas anyone could ever ask for. My grandpa, grandma, mom, dad, and I treated that Thursday like it was any other. Although it was still enjoyable, I wish we made it more special. It was the last time I would ever sit with my grandpa and create memories like we used to.

“I can’t believe that’s true!” I exclaimed, my laughter echoing through the room. My grandpa and I had been chatting on the phone for the past half an hour. You would imagine a man his age would be boring and dull. However, he was quite the joker. At least with me, since I was, of course, his favorite granddaughter.

The colorful leaves lept from the branches hanging above my head. As I stood waiting for the great monster to come roaring in front of me, I smelled the chilling fall air and smiled. I took one last deep breath and inhaled the warm, black smell of tractor fuel and I knew it was almost time. My grandfather came across the enormous field and parked in front of me, I grinned with both fear and excitement. I stepped forward with certainty, crushing the fallen leaves that lay in front of me. My grandfather looked down at me as I stood staring at the intricate parts of the tractor, contemplating on whether I should climb onto his lap or just stand there. Without making up my mind, he snatched me right off the ground, dirt falling off of my untied, pink, Converse. He set me on his lap and quite sternly told me not to touch anything but the steering wheel. After taking a deep breath, I gripped my young four year old hands around the bottom of the wheel, I could see my grandfather's rough hands still holding the wheel at the top, comforting me. Slowly, I felt the tractor roar and saw the leaves jumping behind us as we started to move forward. I closed my eyes fearing I was going to make us crash but remembered, my grandfather was there no matter what.

my forehead and down my cheeks paired with my kind, warm eyes filled with knowledge and wisdom. I'm just your typical grandma, except of course, for the fact that I'm only 5 years old. You may think my life right now would be difficult, but if only you knew how my first couple years of life were. I mean, it was hard enough trying to wobble on 2 feet over to mom's open arms, but imagine doing that with a back problem!

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 in my life was like having a third parent with all the lessons he taught me before his death.

My grandmother moved about as much as her husband did. Eyes glazed over, locked onto closed lids.

When it is my turn to become a bride, I will search until I find a man like my grandfather. He is a loyal husband, caring father, and very good at spoiling his grandchildren. He greets you with a sweet hello and leaves you with a kiss on the cheek goodbye. He focuses on making every day a great one and spreading love to everyone he meets. He is very special to many people even though he is just an ordinary man. What makes him stand out the most is his love for God, love for his family, and the hard work he does on a daily basis.

All movies have three parts, a beginning, middle, and end. This movie I’m going to share with you is no different, except this movie plays in my head every time I think about Papa. Even though I was so young I remember every day spent with Papa as if there is a movie reel going round and round in my head. Let me take you into this movie that I call life, so you too can experience Papa as I had.

A bulky, vigorous elderly man, who had voyaged an incredible journey was prepared to combat the rest of his life with bliss. He appeared to be callow with small thin patches of hair connected to the sides of his glassy, bald head. He had only a single viable kidney sustaining his life, the other having been appropriated from him at the age of forty, but, nevertheless, he still managed to stimulate a lively charismatic presence around himself. Though his occupation remained only as an accountant, he still managed to regard the positive aspects of life. He would watch the adversities only as a spectator, and would attentively escape them with the people whom he loved. The land around him contained an hyperactive aura that compelled him to thrive from the energy surrounding him. I never understood how he could take pleasure in fervently listening to the repugnant chatter and bickering of the townsfolk that could be heard from my bedroom window. I never understood how the bittersweet melodies of the pecan colored nightingale that perched upon his chalky windowsill at dawn served as a source of amusement to him. I had always indulged in deep admiration for my grandfather, for he was a strong man that had guided me through the most difficult points in my life. Yet I did not have the ability to guide him through his.

Richard Puz once said “Death leaves a memory no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal.” I don’t remember every moment with him but he was someone who I looked up to, someone who told me stories, someone who watched over me and someone who loved me. He was my grandfather.

My grandfather’s name was Charles Asa Davis, Jr. He was the son of Charles A. Davis Sr and Lois Lee Loggins Davis. My grandfather grew up in Bradenton, Florida which is about forty-five minutes south of Tampa, Florida. He came from an extensive line of fishermen and was a hard worker by all accounts. As a young man, he learned the art of plastering to better support his family. When building was slow, he would then go on commercial fishing trips for more income. My grandfather which we called him “Papa” was an honest, good, and tough man.

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, and his coping abilities had eroded considerably.