My Grandfather 's Legacy Of 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.

Have you ever heard of the music that is known as "satanic"? Well, a band known as "Bring Me The Horizon" is categorized under that division. The band is not satanic, however, it is a group of people trying to make a difference in the world. The lead vocalist, Oliver Sykes, is very important to me. Oliver has impacted many lives throughout his music career.

There have been countless influential people in my life that I’ve come across. One who was a meticulous inspiration continues to be my grandfather. My grandmother had remarried to the one I call “grandpa” when I was at the age of five, and they both took to each other’s grandchildren as their own. With my mother and me only living a mile down the road from their farmhouse out in the country, I’d spent heaps amount of time there as a child. Indeed, I had been without a father but my grandfather stepped up to the plate and had taken me under his wing and willingly played the personification of a father figure.

The summer rain of San Luis Potosí, México, made it almost impossible to go outside and enjoy the city without getting drenched, so Abuelito, Silence, and I together in one room, enjoying our second return to our hometown. He sat on his chair and I lay on the bed, calmly looking through the family albums. Bookshelves filled with books from my mother’s and uncles’ university courses and my Abuelita’s books from her teaching years covered one wall. It remained the same ever since we moved to the United States. The same TV. The same bed sheets. The only things that changed was my grandpa’s ability to walk and me. I gained height and weight and well, he has gotten older and weaker. I have lived my whole life with him by my side but do I really

What is my legacy? Could I be an amazing wrestler and win awards, Graduate with the best GPA or could it be an early drop out to where I will thrive in business, at the local Mcdonalds? I want to be remembered at my high school, not all four years but most of them. Wants the point of high school if you don't leave something behind to be remembered by. Most seniors do senior pranks, that way they get remembered as the kid who rode a dirt bike through the school or sticky noted all the classrooms. My friends and I always laugh and thought what could our senior pranks be, burnouts in the parking lot, having a truck pull in front of the school, or even use a train horn to scare people. No matter what as long as it's with friends, I'm okay with it, and I'm sure they will be too.

I remember spending a lot of time at my grandparent’s house. Every morning I would come up from the basement to eat an early breakfast. After my Papa led us in the blessing of the food he would turn on the local A.M. radio station to catch the morning edition of Paul Harvey. I remember the soothing tone of Mr. Harvey’s voice, as he discussed things of morality and common sense. This week I heard an old Paul Harvey episode that caused these wonderful memories to come flooding back, and it caused me to think about the memories I will leave for my children and grand-children. Friend, you are going to leave a legacy when you die; what will your legacy say about who you were? Make memories, be an example, expect perfection, and never cease to give

It’s so still here, so quiet, so peaceful. I walked past rows of gravestones as I finally approached the site where my relatives lay. To many, visiting their relatives in a cemetery can be a sad experience; I however, was happy for them, because they still gathered together as they had before. I smiled as I remembered those times, when I was but a child and I could just barely see over the table. I could hear their talking and laughter again. How warm and familiar it all was! I remembered how laughter would erupt after my father told a good joke – he was always telling jokes. I could even smell the feast my mother and aunts would cook for us, and could almost feel them slapping my hand as I tried to sneak a piece of turkey before the meal. I remembered sitting at the smaller table with my cousins and siblings, feeling as if I were too old to sit at the kid's table. I remembered feeling left out, as if the adults kept some kind of grown-up secret from me. That same feeling I felt again, as I stood there seeing them all lying as they used to sit, in those two long rows. Although I had grown to be an adult, they still seemed to keep some secret from me, one that I was not to know of yet, one that I am not ready yet to

“The Curious Case of Benjamin Button”, by Francis Scott Fitzgerald, is a short story about the life of a man who ages backwards. The story covers the highs, lows, and interworking’s of his life. The author tackled the subject of life and death in a unique way. I feel the author wanted us to consider our lives as a gift. Aging is almost universally seen as a negative, past the age of thirty, sometimes before. The author uses this unique story as a way to show that aging is not only a way to bring you closer to death, but as a way to experience life. Every year that you age, another year of knowledge, experiences, and skills is added to your mental library. Another year of emotion, triumph, and defeat as a constant reminder of the years you lived.

For example, the author shows how the grandfathers always have something to share with the young, so the author wants people to at least to tell their grandparents thanks for what they done in the past and present so you could make them happy and warm and feel loved. The author in "A Celebration of Grandfathers" also shows how experience will help shape someone's values by passing their values to the reader. For example, the author says it would help if we would all greet our old one's with a kind and respectful

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.

In the endless sea, he is a lighthouse, guiding me to the right course; in the dark night, he is a star, with me to meet the joy of every day. And he is my idol - my dear grandfather. My grandfather died in his 75 years old, in childhood time, most of the time he was with me, he was very concerned about me, but also taught me a lot of lessons, let me grow, I am very thankful for my grandfather.

My father’s parents Joe and Marie Robinson were deceased before my father married my mother in 1952. I do not recall my father sharing stories about his childhood. I rationalized this because the South was not a pleasant place for Black’s, during the Jim Crow era. The stories I have heard about my father’s heritage from extended family members living during that time period. What I learned my Great-grandfather was the first Black to open a banking account on St Helena Island. During sister’s Alpha research conducted through Ancestry database found a copy of my grandfather Joe Robinson 1918 draft card into the US Army at the age of 17. In addition, my sister found two bank records that indicated Joe Robinson was the first Black male to open a bank account at the ????. I believe Joe Robinson had a strong desire to care for his ten children. Despite being divorced and remarried both wives had separate bank accounts until the day he died. Through stories from my cousin ??? age ??? my grandfather I discovered left my father for financial reasons at a young age because my grandmother Marie died at the young age of 28 years old (reasons unknown) until he was injuries working the shipyards in Savannah, Georgia and he returned to Lady Island, SC and worked as a farmer until his death.

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.

When I look at him, it is like I am looking in a mirror fifty years from now. We have the same chocolate brown hair and brown eyes. We both have a deep, dark complexion. Sometimes I see old pictures and I am not sure who it is, my grandfather or me. When I think about him, the word that comes to mind is love. When I am in the middle of a race, feeling exhausted, and am in the need of motivation, I can hear him cheering me on. His deep encouraging voice pushes me to speed up and finish the race. My grandfather not only encourage me in cross country, but he also tries to encourage me throughout every aspect of my life. My grandpa is a very influential part of my life. As I grow, I try as hard as possible to take how he lives and emulate it in my life.

“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.