when I was 3 or 4 my best friend in the whole world was my grandpa. I don't have tons of memories of playing with him or anything, but what I do remember is running into his arms every time I went to my grandparents' house. I remember how he smelled like pipe tobacco, his cane and his civil war magazines all over the house.
He died when I was 4, so a lot of what I know about him is what my parents told me. He only had a 3rd grade education, but he loved reading and knew everything about the civil war. He smiled all the time, except when he was crying happy tears, because almost everything made him cry. He worked multiple jobs to support his five children, because his family had come from Slovakia and worked hard to make his life better. There's a studio portrait of my dad's family in the 70s where he's just beaming with pride. He had the most handsome smile in the world.
And I was his favorite grandchild. When Jehovah's Witnesses came to the front door, he showed them pictures of me. Once, my mom had told me not to cuddle with him because his health was so bad and I had a cold. I remember telling him that I couldn't hug him, but he said he didn't care and I climbed into his lap.
After he died, when I was in kindergarten, I used to pretend his ghost was around to protect me when I got scared. Nothing was scary when Grandpa was around to hold my hand. I loved him.
