My Grandfather

My grandfather, Cosmo Damiano Depinto was born on May 15, 1939 in the small town of Molfetta, Italy. He is the son of Nicoletta Depinto, his mother, who was one of three siblings. Her two sisters were named Lina and Giovanna. His mother had a full time job as a seamstress. His grandmother was responsible for making fishing nets. His grandfather, Orazio, had a similar profession in the fishing industry and and worked as a local fisherman. But unfortunately he passed away when a mine blew up while he was fishing in his boat after World War I (1914-1918).

Ever since I could remember, soccer had been in my life. If there was a soccer team that needed a coach, my father was always the first to volunteer. There were almost too many strenuous weekends spent hours away from home for soccer tournaments to count. My entire family, consisting of my parents, my siblings, my dog, and myself, packed in a mini-van heading to a city that I had never heard of for soccer games. But when I entered high school, all that would soon go away. I kept playing the same sport that I always had, although now I had to wake up at five in the morning for six hours of high school soccer practice in the smoldering summer heat in order to make the high school team. High School sports were more competitive than anything I had done before. I put in as much effort as I could to make the Varsity High School team, staying out past dinner to practice even longer. I was utterly divulged in soccer and trying to be the best I could be. Soon, I would regret placing a game over spending time with my family.

He had a big, deep voice, and thinning gray hair. His eyes were big and friendly. He was in no way a fancy man. He used to live in Brooklyn, and even among all of the designer outfits, he always preferred a simple t-shirt and sweatpants with a pair of worker’s boots. He lived his life however he wanted, even if it would embarrass those around him. No matter, he was a loving man, and he always had time for his family. He was never too busy with work or his social life to relax with us for a little while. These traits all came together to give him a lively, impish, and extremely loving personality. They made him my Grandpa.

My grandmother was born in Guatemala into a struggling family of seven. In Guatemala, kids are often forced to leave school and start working to help provide for their family´s food and shelter. Similarly, my grandmother was not able to complete her education. Instead, she had to take care of her siblings, providing for their basic needs. As she grew up, she had three kids, including my father, and needed to find a way to give them a better life.

Many children these days have godparents, those who aid the parents in a child’s upbringing and personal development. In New Orleans, Louisiana, a godparent is much more than an aid to your parents. They become your family, your aunts, your uncles, and your best friends. This is the story of how my best friend left my life so he may reign in heaven.

However, one character in my life was never ordinary; in fact, he was the exact definition of extraordinary. My “papaw” became my favorite playmate, my other half, and my best friend. We were commonly referred to as "two peas in a pod" and " each other's pride and joy." I loved my grandpa in the deepest, most sincere way a young child could. As I grew older, my grandpa assumed the role of my confidant and supporter. When my grandmother would scold me or when my sister and I would argue, I knew that I could retreat into the loving arms of my grandfather. The only thing that he ever did to upset me was when he said, "When I go, I'll miss everyone, but I'll miss you the most, Bug." Little did I know, I would soon long to hear these

In 1952 my grandfather, Albert S. Thanhauser, waited in line with the incoming class of Air Force soldiers in upstate New York as they prepared to enter the Korean War. Each quaking private presented their papers to the stone-faced officer at the front of the line, to receive their military assignment. As my grandfather approached with his documentation, something peculiar happened. “Hmm… Thanhauser,” muttered the gruff officer, “M.O.T.?” he asked quietly. A Brooklyn Jew, Al’s eyes lit up as he nodded and his papers were placed with the rest in the pile. M.O.T: Member of the Tribe, was an instantly recognizable code of camaraderie amongst Jews. Two weeks after this encounter, the night before being shipped off to Korea, Al received a memo: He was being pulled from the pack headed for Hell and instead was shipped to Japan to set up a flight school at an American base. The two years he spent on the airbase were some of the best of his life. Was this story was likely intended to instill me with a connection to Judaism? Was it just another of my Grandpa’s crazy stories? I had always focused on the result of this story - how it dramatically affected my grandfather’s life. But as I have grown older, the story has begun to resonate with me as beautiful demonstration of an act of kindness and virtue that I learn and grow 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.

We were on our way to San Antonio, Texas a white minivan full of kids on their soccer uniforms ready to play on the hot summer of 2008. They had invited us to participate on a youth national tournament with soccer teams from all over the United States. At that time I was just 11 years old and didn’t knew that much about traveling, and most important without my parents. The minivan was full of kids with the enthusiasm of traveling to a new city with big buildings, famous places to visit and many attractions, where none of us had traveled before.

My hero, a person who expresses kindness, intelligence, charisma, strength, selflessness, and helps my mother. My hero is my grandfather, Vern Newlin. Vern Newlin or Pawpaw to me, is a classic hard worker, whose appearance will make you feel . His eyes are sparkling emeralds in comparison to the way he dresses. His dress is a rancher who spends his time outside, always. Compared to his height, his short brunette hair is like an inchworm to his height. He always wants to either tell or hear jokes, which I really like because his humor allows me to know that he has a sense of humor. Features that he is known for are his intelligence.

The whistle screeched and all of the anxiety that was haunting me, suddenly slipped away. Everything we had been working towards came into play now. My first soccer game was a mix of emotions, I was excited, nervous, hyper, and smiley. It all started on the car ride to the game, it was only a 10 minute ride but it felt more like 10 hours. My parent’s intentions were to be supportive, but I found it annoying. They were telling me to be aggressive and don’t back down but at the same time, have fun. Now I have a greater appreciation for my parents and know they just want the best for me. After what seemed like days, we arrived at Swarner Park, it was a little chilly because the sun was behind the full, fluffy clouds.

My grandfather was involved in many wars during the 1900s. His experiences started in the First Indochina War in 1946 and ended with the Vietnam War in 1975. His first war experience was during the First Indochina War, in which he fought for the French army against the Viet Minh force, an anti-French alliance. He was captured in 1953, but eventually and released in 1954 when the war ended with the International Geneva Conference. He then proceeded to move to Saigon in 1955 and worked as a journalist for a newspaper company during the Vietnam War.

As I sat in my desk, my thoughts wandered as I listened to my teacher, Mrs. Flunkerflock, talk about the importance of our founding fathers. I thought, not about what my teacher was saying but the class itself. I thought how I actually hated history, but I was good at it, I was good at any subject really. I always tried to do my absolute best. To obtain any information that I possible could so that my parents could be proud of me, especially my dad. I always feared that my dad would never be proud of me like the way that his father was proud of him. I am filled with pressure since I’m technically not his son. I have always thought that he regretted me because I’m not his. That he should have made my mother abort me or give me up for adoption.

Without my uncle Donald, I would not be where I am today, I owe him everything, and all I must give him is love, but there isn't enough love in the world to show him how much he is loved by me. I will try to tell you about him as best I can, through my tears.

When we were together we were invincible, us against the world. I’d look up to him, not only because he was 6’4, but because he was my grandpa. I have clear memories of him picking me up from school, playing old school reggae music during our adventurous car rides. We’d always sing along to our favorites, sometimes turn the music up so loud the people in the cars next to us could hear it. When I would visit his apartment, the familiar smell of drywall and pennies would fill the air. It was my hideaway, my home away from home. My grandpa collected pennies in water jugs. He would say that one day they’d be worth more than just pennies. I loved it there, not only because he had a freezer filled with many flavors of ice cream to which he would often say to me “you can have all you can eat” but because it was our time to bond. For five years it was my mom, my dad, and my grandpa helping me to grow. Those are my favorite people, my role models. Being around my grandpa brought me such comfort and joy.