My Father Is Someone Who Cares For You

When I turned sixteen, my dad bought me my first car. Regrettably, I wrecked it not even a month later. In need of a vehicle for work and other after school activities, my dad bought another car for me, which became my brother’s when I bought a newer car. My father also put me through soccer, band, choir, and cheerleading because he saw the best in me and did the same for my brother with soccer, baseball, and band. He attended every competition and game he could as long as work would allow him the time. Every summer he takes the family to a lake cabin in Minnesota for vacation. In Minnesota, my dad taught me how to bait my hook, catch a fish, and how to filet one. Who knows how long my dad tried to teach my brother and I how to string a fishing pole or tie a fishing knot.

I know that he’s always watching me now. I was living life just as normally as the other 10 year old. That was until my grandpa had been acting up in the following weeks of my 11th birthday, he was not being his normal self. He underwent a CT scan in early December, and it revealed a tumor on his brain. He underwent surgery to remove the tumor and lost his beautiful, prized hair. Not many men could grow hair like he could. He was recovering well from surgery, and according to the doctors, he would have 6-12 months to live. All was well I was until I was in Fort Wayne, Indiana for a hockey tournament with my PeeWee A team 6 weeks later. My father had received a call from my mother, who was my grandpa’s daughter. She told him that a tumor had regrown behind one of his eyes, and it was the size of a softball. They had no choice but to put him on life support because the tumor rendered him brain dead, and let everyone say their goodbyes. “Feed the good wolf,” was something he would always say to us kids. He loved that saying. He lived by it. I lost the man I wanted (and still strive to) be like. He was the perfect grandfather, and although his life was taken from him at the age of 63 by some horrible disease, he lived a full life. On the dark, candle lit night of January 14th, 2012, I realized how precious life is, and I chose to “Live Like Larry.”

I never really knew my grandpa as well as I would have liked. He was already an old, old man by the time I started high school, and my own memories of him are mostly of a man confined by age and ailing health. So I'm not really going to talk about my memories of him. Instead, I'm going to try to share his memories and the memories of those that knew him.

He would give his last dime in order to make me happy. We use to go to rodeos and fairs when I was much younger and he would make sure that I got everything that I wanted. He used to drop me to school and wait for me after sport practices. We would laugh at anything and everything. My uncle taught me almost everything I know from fishing by the lake to driving a truck on the highway. We would even go to church on Sunday and pray for him to be detached from his addition. He was my go to guy and then somewhere along the way he started drinking uncontrollably. He would then get arrested and have to go through treatment centers. He was a tormented spirit trying to deal with all his past choices and the consequences. He never seemed to get a break, always falling and having to pull himself out of one hole after another. He would say, “I can stop drinking anytime and I want to stop,” and there were times he did, but those times never lasted because when he would not drink, he had to deal with all of the thoughts going through his head. Coping with life was not a skill that he ever acquired. Uncle Louis would tell me how hard it was at these treatment centers and the many restrictions that would be placed upon him. He could barely talk to family and he always had lessons to complete. He could never get out of those places quick

During my childhood my mother and father expected me, my brother and two sisters to be respectful, obedient and polite. They set a conservative tone for our house that was not as strict as a boarding school, but there were similarities. Now that is not to say they beat us, or were mean, in fact they loved us very much but the love was shown from a specific distance. We talked, we laughed, but we never talked loudly, and we never laughed too much. I can remember hugging my dad, but it was when I was pretty little. I guess he felt that I was a boy, and as such I had to stand on my own. My only problem was he worked so much I never really learned how to stand on my own as a man. He never taught me how to defend myself. My mom always told me to walk away from a fight, problem is kids don’t view the world as adults, and the kid looking to avoid a fight probably didn’t know how to fight, and that was just too tempting a target to pass up. After we mover to Cerritos it was different, my relationship with my dad changed. He was getting home after work on time, he was around in the evenings and on weekends. I could see he was more relaxed, under less stress than he had been before and it was great! We started doing things together more regularly. We went deep sea fishing 4 or 5 times a year, we went to science fairs, hobby shops and down to the local harbors and checked out sail boats. I was getting to know him, where he came from,

My grandpa always comes to my sporting events to cheer me on. When he comes, he brings along his camera, taking a million pictures a second, capturing every moment. When I got sick when I was younger papa would always take me to his house, and make sure I was ok. He would wrap me in a mountain of blankets, bring me chicken noodle soup, and turn on Looney Tunes.He would never freak out about me getting him sick like a lot of people did which would make me feel better. Sometimes when my parents are really busy, my grandpa will almost always be there to get me from place to place, never complaining about how it was inconvenient for him or how he had somewhere better to be.

It was back sometime in the summer of 2004 when my life would be uprooted and changed. The day we left, my dad sat me in his bedroom and said he would always be my dad, and that he loved me. My mom had packed all our things in her little white Nissan that worked only half the time, and we made the trek to our new home. The ride was long, and my brother being only three years old was not too happy about that. When we got to the house, the shudders were black and the drive-way was unpaved. In the front yard stood a man I had never seen before. His beer gut was small but obvious enough, what little hair he had left poked out of his trucker hat. His face had

I even went fishing and golfing with him several times at home, and we would always have a great time. As all the men stared at me with smirks on my face, my dad told me that I couldn’t go on the trip because I was too young. My cousin, just a year older, staring at me with a satisfied sneer was allowed to go just because he was a boy. I gave my dad an angry and betrayed look as my cousins laughed and taunted me. The rest of the afternoon, I refused to help with dinner and angrily fished by myself.

     Due to the fact that my father was now on his own and trying to raise three children (my older brother from my father’s first marriage), he had to take a different position at his work. Although he was getting a raise it wasn’t necessarily a good thing. He had to start working the night shift so he could get the raise. He didn’t really have a choice in the matter and because of this new change, I began to lose valuable time with him as well. It was now up to my brother to watch over us at night and make sure we got to bed on time. If there was any trouble or and problems in general, my brother would call my grandmother. For three years my dad worked that job and every night he would stay up after he got home to see us. He would make my sister and I breakfast and make we were off to school on time. This meant the world to me because no matter what he always made time for us.

While I was still little I didn’t quite understand why he had to be so far away. He would come down to visit once a year, I used to be so happy to see him. He would always bring me gifts and money every time he came home. Every year when he came home for a little while we used to stay at my uncle’s house, it was always fun. Me and my dad would always

He was generous, he made sure that his nieces and nephews, should not lack anything. I remember taking me to vacations, buying me gifts, paying my tuition and buying toys for kids. One day I spent a night in my uncle’s house, in the morning I overheard him arguing with his wife. I didn't had an idea why they were arguing. He left home for work. After two hours, I heard the house phone ringing and I answered the phone, the call was from my uncle’s job. They told me my uncle was rushed to the hospital. I went to the hospital upon my arrival the nurse told me that he is no more. It was brain aneurysm got

But he was a good guy, a tad bit strange and a little broken but he was still good. He got money through the system and that let him pay for his phone and car insurance, it was also enough for him to have a little extra every month. So he would feel the need to help out around the house. And he did. The first time he tried he bought us toilet paper, even though we told him that we would tell him if we needed anything. Once in a while we would ask him to buy some type of food product since he would always insist on helping; it was either that or some type of overpriced toilet paper that our toilets would get clogged from. And after a while we considered him part of our family and he considered us part of

My father has always been my crutch. He’s always been there to support me when I felt broken, constantly apologizing for something he can’t control. When I felt unwanted and abandoned and constantly asking myself what I did wrong for her to not want to stay and asking what was wrong with myself every time the door slammed shut. My father was there picking up the pieces, and patting my back trying to pacify me. How he sat me on the counter and poured peroxide on my knees in order to clean out the leftover rocks and blood after I tried to race down the steps after her and fell while trying to drag her back causing the rocks to bite into my skin. She left without looking back.

When I turned two my parents ended up getting in a divorce. I don't really know too much information about why they split up, but I know it was for the best. Since I was so young when the got in a divorce I didn't really know what was happening. My dad ended up moving to Mason City while my mom stayed in our house in Northwood. Every other weekend my older brother and I would go and stay at my dad's, and every Tuesday he would take us out to dinner. Most of the time we would eat at Taco John's because that was my brothers and I favorite. When we weren’t at our dads every other weekend we were with our

For many people, Grandpa is a storyteller, someone to go fishing with, and someone who has your back no matter what. The experience I had with my grandpa was a little different. I never got the opportunity to meet my great-grandfather Liston Grider, but he still somehow managed to have a huge impact on my life. Sometimes my mom would tell stories about him; happy memories from her childhood, sad ones that were painful for her to tell, and everything in between. I thought I had heard it all, but this past summer I learned something about my great grandpa that would perhaps impact my life forever. This story was not told by my mom like usual, but by someone who was a complete stranger to me. The lessons I learned would not be taught in a single day, but over the span of a month through a series of Facebook messages and letters in the mail. The words I read upon opening those messages and letters would change my life forever, permanently transform my beliefs, and show me what it truly means to be an American.