My Grandfather : My Life

When you think of losing a grandparent in your life, you think of them passing away. You dread the day you will get the call that they are sick. You then begin to cherish all the moments you have with them leading up to their passing. You have time to except their sickness, and come to terms with the outcome that is to come. My PopPop is not here anymore, but do not get confused, for he is alive. I did not have warning. I did not have time to cherish him. I did not have time to say goodbye. My PopPop was on no medication, which was almost uncanny for a 75-year-old. Trying to encompass everything he was boils down to a few things that may not seem like much to someone who didn’t know him. He went on a walk every night after dinner, and would whistle the same tune when he was happy. He played the same little ditty on the piano every time we were all in the living room. He was a simple man who could not harm a fly, and a good man. Unlike the grandchild warned when they are going to lose a grandparent, I did not have this notice. I did not have time to go on one last walk with him, and I did not have time to record him on the piano. I did not have time to replicate his whistling song, or to spend time with the man I knew. My PopPop was the heathiest man I knew, but then he got depression. First slowly, then all at once. The man I knew had slipped from my fingers without any chance to hold on tighter.

My mom spoke very little to each of us and seemed to be gone longer and longer each day until Saturday, which was moving day. That Saturday I had a band concert for relay for life at my local park. As the performance came to an end my best friend and I hop in the backseat of her mom's sweltering car and crank up the radio. We listen to our favorite throwbacks as her mom speeds down the streets rushing to get me home. As we pull in the drive, an unfamiliar vehicle idles in my driveway. Inside my house lays all of my moms belongings neatly piled up by the door waiting to be taken. My mom greets me at the door and introduces me to her boyfriend. He is much taller than me and talks down to me as if I'm a child. I cut the conversation short and sit on the couch with my dog Casey as they continue moving her things. After the last item is hauled away, my mom looks at me through the glass of the front door and says “I'll pick up Casey later.” and vanishes without another

My grandfather’s bass stood in a dark corner so quietly, just waiting to be played again. As I took the covering off the bass, dust danced its way to the floor, and its fire engine red coloring gleamed as brightly as ever. When it was finally time to clean out my grandparent’s house after their passing, my mother told me that the instrument was mine if I wanted it. I was so delighted to learn that he left it to me because this bass represented the one personal activity that linked me to my grandpa, and was the reason I wanted to play string instruments. I remember feeling slightly on edge as I drove away from my grandparent’s house with that bass though, because that meant he was truly gone, not coming back, and I would never hear him play it again. The instrument means so much to me because it stands for everything that I have become from learning patience, perseverance, and the will power to stick with a goal till the end.

Vicki Lyashenko’s article of Three Secrets of a Long Life From my 100-year-old Grandfather, is about a grandaugther asking her grandfather what is the secret to a long life. A few months ago her grandfather told her that the secret to a long life is be thankful for everything, be happy, and keep a positive outlook on life. The article says, “Life isn't always a walk in the park, you cannot control many things that happen to you, but you can control your outlook. Everything that happens, happens for a reason, trust that” (Lyashenko). Lyashenko has decided to take your grandfather’s advice. Life will have its ups and downs and there will be times when we can’t control what is happeneing. But if you keep a positive outlook, life will be a

I distinctly remember the weeknights at his house. Sitting upon his lap, walking down the street, getting pulled in my wagon through a park--these were things I loved doing with Grandpa. I was not just another person to him: I was the ultimate grandson, and I was special.

The crunch of frozen grass could be heard a mile away at five o’clock in the morning. My grandpa and I whispered conversation as we strolled over to our favorite deer blind. We cautiously marched over sticks trying hard not to make any sounds. We eventually made it without spooking any deer and set our guns down, waiting for sunrise. These are the times I enjoy the most with my grandpa. It is a chance to sit back and enjoy life with one of my favorite people on this planet. Time goes slower in these moments. It gives us a chance to share conversation about anything. We swap stories from the past and I always seem to learn something new from my grandpa. Whether it be from advice he gives me or from an experience long ago, I’m always listening. Although our experiences may be different we still love to enjoy the same hobbies together, whether it’s woodworking, hunting, or time out on the lake; sharing life with my grandpa is priceless.

I have many amazing people in my family. I admire them, look up to them and inspire to be like them. There is one person in my family that I look up to and has been an inspiration to me for many years. That person is my grandfather. I call him grandpa Stout. He is my mother’s father. My grandpa Stout does not live near me. Unfortunately, he lives near Rochester, New York. So for this reason I do not get to see him very much. When I was little, I went to visit more often because I was not in school yet. However, when I started school and became involved in activities, I only go once or twice a year. This paper will demonstrate the extraordinary man that I know as my grandfather.

“I have to go or i’ll miss the bus,” I say to my grandpa. “Okay good luck at your game,” he says, “I love you.” The last words my grandpa would ever say to me. As I left his home to catch the basketball bus.

When we were together it would be us against the world. My ride or d.. (well, you get the picture...) I’d look up to him, not only because he was 6’4, but because he was my grandpa. I have clear memories of being picked up after school by my grandpa and him playing reggae mash-ups 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 beside us could hear it. When I would go to 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 clear water filter jugs because he said that one day they’d be worth more than just pennies. I loved it there, not only because of the all you can eat ice cream that he made sure he had in his fridge but because of our bond. For five years it was mom, dad, and grandpa helping me to grow. Those are my favorite people, my role models. Being around my grandpa brought me such comfort and joy.

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.

My grandmother likes to believe that my grandfather left our world, to save his sons. If it weren’t for the fact that my grandfather had passed away, both my dad and my uncle would not have been home from work that day. In fact, both my dad and uncle, may have been in their office, or even walking the streets that moment when the planes crashed into the twin towers instantly destroying those buildings and all the buildings surrounding it. My dad and my uncle could have been anywhere in the city that day and time, and could have been severely hurt or worst-case scenario killed. Furthermore, my family was unlucky to have lost my grandfather so soon, but lucky to have ensured safety for my dad and my uncle when they were forced to miss work that very day.

When I think of my Papa many things come to mind, but one of the most important is how loving he is. He is a tall man, about six feet tall and is in good shape. He has a silver-colored hair and an infectious smile. He is very joyful and loves to crack jokes with his family and friends. His real name is Tony Morton, but he is lovingly known as Papa to me as well as his 3 other grandchildren. Papa was born January 14th of 1947 in Concord, North Carolina to Paul and Della Morton. He grew up in the neighboring town of Kannapolis. Papa still lives near the same area that he was raised.

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 grandpa, Robert Townsend Hoyt Jr., has had many achievements and difficulties throughout his life. His journey through life is a wonderful and inspiring story that I hope everyone can have a journey as inspiring as my grand-fathers. It includes The Great Depression, the Korean War, his family, and the jobs he has had. He is an 87-year-old caucasian with white hair. He is 5’10 in height and has bushy eyebrows. He has six children who all love him very much, and 16 grandchildren who love him even more.

A couple weeks ago my Grandfather passed, my family felt like something was missing. We felt even though my grandfather wasn’t there ,something of his was missing. Before he had passed , he would sit in the same chair every day and with the same hats hung up on the top of the chair, and the same little desk with a box of tissues in the same spot, and the same old dusty phone book that hasn’t moved in 3 years and had the names of people no one knows of and numbers that probably don’t even go to the right person anymore, that was even still there. We knew there was something missing but we couldn’t quite put our finger on it. My Grandfather would always have multiple hats on his chair so we never thought to look to see if he was missing any hats.