Personal Narrative Essay : My Grandfather

Everyone experiences loss, but the difference is our beliefs of where those individuals go when their time is up here. I have experienced losing friends and family from drugs, freak accidents, diseases, and just natural death. I have seen death right in front of my eyes, but somehow I still find something to comfort me. A place where there is only a peace and where there is no more pain, Heaven.

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.

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.

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.

In 1912 a child was born his name was Everett Babcock (1912-1974), he eventually would become my grandfather. In 1937 he would marry my grandmother, Mary McFarland (1910-1969) and they would have 3 children Everett Babcock (1937-2017) my father, Edna Mae (1940-2004), and Thomas (1944-2008). Everett worked as an auto mechanic and Mary as a beautician to support and provide for their 3 children. In 1969 Mary was diagnosed with colon cancer and die a short time later, 5 years later in 1974 my grandfather would be diagnosed with lung cancer but would suffer a heart attack and die. Since I was still a young child and didn’t live close to my paternal grandparents I don’t remember what the relationships were like. The most I remember is when we

Annoyed at this, I turned once again and lay on my back. I took a deep

The stories of family member’s lives are important to document and share over the years. Their stories are a reminder of the history from different time periods. The family members I chose to talk about are people I either admire or wanted to learn more about. Here are their stories.

My Grandfather died on December 5th, 2015. I was 15 at the time and I had only just started highschool as a junior a few months prior. I didn’t get to see him recently before his death, nor was I able to say goodbye to him before his passing. Instead, I got to wait patiently while the man I respected for so long took his last breath. I watched as he passed away, right in front of my eyes.

As soon as we finished the job, my uncle went and sat in the front

Some of my favorite moments with my grandfather were how we always did everything together. I was glad I lived with my grandparents. Stuff with my actual family weren’t the best, because they thought they couldn’t handle me. My grandfather and I had so much fun throughout the years. We enjoyed going for ice cream the most. We always had the same ice cream every once in a while, but occasionally we would change it up a little. We usually grabbed chocolate ice cream for a treat, but sometimes we would decide we want a twist ice cream. I loved spending time with my grandfather.

Deep in the woods there was a cabin at the end of a long, winding driveway. The screens of the windows were flapping in the wind. The steps creaked with every footstep that Ruth Smith took. As she opened the door to her Grandpa’s cabin, she wondered why he had given her this dilapidated building in his will. Ruth looked around the cabin and said “This is going to take forever to get ready to sell.”

"Never forget the past…because it may haunt you forever. Regret all the bad things…cherish the good things. Look ahead always…but don't let the bad things from the past get in your mind." As a young child, there were so many incidents in my life that made me become the person I am today. There were rough times as well as good times. If I were to tell you all of them, I would remember half of them. I think some of my incidents really had some impact, and some were just simple ways of life. To tell you the truth, the incident that had the most impact on me has to be when my real father left me at the age of three. I never knew my father. I mean being a baby, you really have no experience or recognition of somebody else.

I have an abundance of grotesque, yet, barely visible memories of childhood. However, no breathtaking family trips, no unique family togetherness that taught a moral lesson, no abnormal holidays. We still ate family meals together, but most often the children and adults lived in different worlds. When I needed comforting or wanted the best of both worlds, I could turn to my Grandpa.

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.

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.