Death in the Family
I haven't written in awhile because I've been dealing with family issues. My grandfather passed away earlier this week. I wasn't particularly close to him, so this isn't an attempt to seek sympathy. But I figured I would at least write something about it.
My grandfather wasn't particularly interested in me, because I was the son of my father. My father grew up knowing he was not my grandfather's favorite child. Consequently, he had little patience for my grandfather's demands upon him. Because of this, grandpop didn't really spend that much time with me and my brother.
I came to maturity having a negative opinion of my grandfather. Because frankly, you have to work at not liking my father. I knew this, but this was hammered home to me at the funeral due to the sheer number of my father's co-workers who came to the funeral to support him, and who stopped to tell me what a good man my father is.
I look at my father, and at his brothers and sisters, and realize that despite my differences with him, my grandfather must have done something right, as they are some of the warmest, kindest, and most compassionate people I know.
Not really earth shattering, or unique, but I figured I would still say it.
