Grandpa

"Sir, how many packs of cigarettes have you smoked in your lifetime?"
"16,000. Well, hang on. I quit for basketball season and then started again, so...carry the 2. Yep. 16,000."

The above is a conversation between my grandfather and his doctor. He's been in the hospital and even though he's likely miserable, he still has his dry yet hilarious sense of humor going at all times. He jokes about the food, about the state of the nurses, and about how he's keeping my grandma from her shopping trips. He is one of the happiest, most optimistic people I know.

When I was 8, he gave me Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird. Being the nerdy child I was, I quickly devoured it and distinctly remember telling my grandpa that it was "just all right." He chortled his wheezy little laugh and told me to reread it when I was older. I followed his advice in the 9th grade and found that I liked it more. Then again in the 12th grade. Then again this past week. I finished the book for the 4th time yesterday morning and sobbed like a baby while finishing it. I then realized there has been a pattern in my reading, and it's due to my grandpa. To most of my cousins and siblings I only ever heard him ask generic questions. However, he ALWAYS asks me what I've been reading and then intelligently discusses it with me. We talk about more than just plot. We talk about themes and morals and writing strategies. He made me love reading even more than I already did and realize that I wanted to do something with English as a career.

My grandpa was a chemical engineer. He didn't have to go through the extensive literary analysis classes that I do. He didn't have to pull his hair out looking for the elusive theme of a poem. He did it because he is constantly searching for higher meaning and deeper understanding of life.

When he lived in Washington we went up to visit him every summer. I can distinctly remember my mornings with him as an early riser. We'd wake up and pick blueberries from the bushes on the side of his house. We'd then travel inside and watch the news, focusing particularly on the Welch's "100 years old" feature while he made pancakes. "How about that?! 100 years old is a long time to live." I assumed he was pretty close to that already as a child and didn't know why he was so astounded by the thought of a centenarian.

I know this is kind of rambling and disjointed, but I just wanted to write down some of my memories of my grandpa and the impact he's had on me. He is one of the kindest, most sincere, dedicated people I've ever had the privilege to know. He seems to be infinitely patient, good natured, and has a wonderful sense of humor. I'm hoping he leaves the hospital in good health soon, but I know our time together is drawing to a close.

I love you, Grandpa. I hope heaven is an endless golf course with lemon drop stands at every hole.