I never really knew my grandparents too well but from what recall: From what I know about my grandpa on my father's side; He spent many years in jail in Central America for apparently killing somebody. When I ask my father about it he really doesn't elaborate and tends to look away and change the subject. I remember seeing my grandfather as a child and never really exchanging any words with him considering that my father had left us at an early age so we were almost strangers. I always wondered how he got that deep scar running from his elbow to his wrist. My grandmother on my father's side is still alive and well but I don't know too much about her considering that I never spent time with my father's side of the family. All I know is that she loves to travel to her home country and offers to cook for me whenever I see her. I always kindly decline and she never insists and I wonder if she's sick of so many grandchildren considering that she birthed nine children! Unfortunately, my mother's father died before I got to actually know him but apparently he was an interesting fellow that was a true wild man. A womanizer and gambler who dabbled in organized crime back in our country. He kind of left that life as he got older, however, my mother tells me that he was a hard man to my grandmother but that he always treated his children well. The only clear memory I have of him is when I was visiting my home country when I was about nine years old. He sat next to me and offered me a beer. I drank a few sips and he laughed as he saw me squint my eyes and stick out my tongue in disgust. He probably would be proud of me if he could see how much beer I can down now. My grandmother on my mother's side had Alzheimer by the time I saw her. You see, my mother brought us to the U.S. from our home country when me and my brothers were babies. When we returned for a visit she could barely remember her own daughter much less us. I remember she was so thin and had a far away look in her eye. One day during our visit it was time to eat and while playing with my cousins she grabbed one of the many live chickens they had in their coop and cut it's head off like a true pro. It freaked me out and made me terrified of her. Maybe I was next?
My paternal grandfather was a WW2 vet and served in Italy. He played dead for 2 days shot in the leg while Axis soldiers walked over him and his fellow soldiers in the snow. At one point beforehand there were three of them left. One of them thought he could make a run for it to the wall. He was right in that he was physically able to run towards the wall before being gunned down. The other one got hit well before then in the side and spent the rest of his time praying nonstop. His father was a preacher. If there werent atheists in foxholes, there were then. I kind of doubt that statement has ever been true.
Now think about your dad... whats your dad like? Doo da doo doo. <a href="http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=7061364">Doo Dah Doo Doo</a><br/><object width="425px" height="360px" ><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"/><param name="wmode" value="transparent"/><param name="movie" value="http://mediaservices.myspace.com/services/media/embed.aspx/m=7061364,t=1,mt=video"/><embed src="http://mediaservices.myspace.com/services/media/embed.aspx/m=7061364,t=1,mt=video" width="425" height="360" allowFullScreen="true" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent"></embed></object>
Both grandfathers died before I was born. Maternal grandmother immigrated here a little bit after my mother, so she was able to pickup english and communicate with us any time we visited her in New York. Paternal grandmother visited us from Cameroon once when we were kids. We gave her our room and ended up sleeping on a foldout in the living room. I guess my younger brother and I missed sleeping in our rooms, cuz one time when she was out, we snuck in and started jumping on our bed. I don't care what the context or how closely you're related; but any time an old black woman starts yelling at you in another language, it pretty much sounds like a hex.
My father died two days ago. I don't know anything about him really. Nothing. I haven't talked to him for 13 years. I'm 28. Shouldn't I be more upset about it?
My grandparents on my mom's side: both were half Irish. My grandfather was a boxer in Michigan. My grandmother was a homemaker. They both died in a car accident, along with my mom's infant brother, in 1961. I don't know who my dad is, so I have no idea about his grandparents. Apparently he's Swedish.
My paternal grandfather grew up in The Bronx. He led his high school to the New York City championship his senior year. He turned down basketball scholarships to St. John's University and Penn State to enlist in the Army for WWII. I don't know much about what he did in the war or much about him since then. He died about 4 years ago of complications in the hospital while getting cancer treatment. My paternal grandmother was also from New York. She and her husband were both Irish Catholics and ended up moving to Baltimore where my dad was born. I don't know much else about her because my father and her are not on speaking terms as a result of the way my grandfather died. My maternal grandfather is 100% Italian and from Ohio. He grew up with 3 other brothers but one was hit by and truck while sledding at age 8. My grandfather would use his dead brother's birth certificate to enlist in WWII early. He served in the Air Force in Europe. He later spent time in Asia. My maternal grandmother is from Ohio with Czech ancestory. Her father was involved in organized crime in the Cleveland area. She grew up in a pretty wealthy family and never questioned anything having to do with her father's business. She has developed dementia over the past couple years.
Not to sound morbid, but you will be. You or one of your relatives has something: a picture, a piece of clothing, that will remind you not only of him, but of the last time you and he were together. Then you'll remember that moment, and retrace every step of your life from then until June 4, 2009 (which is now seared in your brain) and wonder if you could have reached out, just once. Then some chest pains, and, when you're all alone, some fairly intense crying. All natural, normal and very, very healthy. And the more you accomplish professionally and personally, the more you'll wish he'd been around to see it. Sorry about your loss.
Oh, no, she caught my brother and I jumping on our bed; where she was sleeping while she visited us. No weave, wig or perm, looked like my Dad in drag.
My maternal Grandmother was born and lived her life in Mexico before she died about a year ago with sBome type of bone cancer. We saw her health go down hill extremely fast in the span of 4 months. I was able to see her hours before she passed away...she was motionless with her eyes barely open...and passed away after saying goodbye to the last family member to visit. My maternal Grandfather....never met him...he left my Grandmother and the entire family of 6 kids...this made my Grandmothers passing harder to take... My Paternal Grandmother is still alive. Born in Mexico, and currently living in Del Rio, TX close to family. She's my only surviving grandparent. My Paternal Grandfather passed away and had Alzheimer's. He owned his own convenience connected to his family built 2 story home located in Acuna, Coahuila, Mexico...it was in a great central location right across from a bus station, and my grandmother currently rents the property out while living across the border. My Paternal Great Grandfather lived to be 110 years old. He was fortunate enough to die peacefully after living in 3 different centuries...which still baffles me.
All four of my grandparents were big parts of my life. I lived with my maternal grandmother for a good part of my adolescence. She was the coolest, hippest lady. She grew up in a really poor family and really worked hard to escape that unhappy live. She lived life on her terms and was fiercely independent. My maternal grandfather died in 1974, just after my father died, but I remember him. He was one of those Cadillac convertible swinger guys who liked a drink and the ladies. That is probably why my Granny divorced him and why he died pretty young. He was a character. My fraternal grandparents were entirely different. They were devout Methodists. My grandfather designed their church and were charter members there for over 50 years. The church was the center of their lives, along with their family. Funny story about my Grandmother- after she died we were cleaning out her house and found an hilarious letter which showed her good and bad side. The bad side of her was that she was incapable of throwing anything away. It was a real problem. The good side was that she was very generous to people. The letter we found was from the Black Panthers. Evidentally, she donated money to the Black Panthers in the 1970's for some after school lunch program they were running. She gave a lot to charity, got on some list and made a contribution to them without batting an eye. Imagine this little old white lady in the South forking over a hundred dollars to Black Panthers! My fraternal Grandfather died last October. He was 92. He was an engineer at Humble, later, Exxon Oil for over 50 years. He had a mathematical mind, but was one of the most deeply spiritual people I have ever met. His whole life was in service to God and his family. He set a good example to everybody in the family.
My dad's father was an alcoholic and a chain smoker who died before I was born. He was divorced from my grandmother and apparently, like to terrorize her by putting sugar in her gas tank. My dad's mother was a character. She was quite the anti-semite, as there was never a time where she didn't ask me if I worked for a jew, and if so, to be "careful". She was a realtor in California back in the 50s/60s and up until the time she died in 2001, owned numerous rental properties and ran her own business in Whichita Falls. My mom's dad also died before I was born. From what I know, he was a WWII vet, and a drunkhard who was quite popular with the Dallas PD as he like to go to bars and pick fights with folks. I understand he was arrested about 70 times during the last 2-3 years of his life. My mom's mom was a sweet old lady. She lived in a run down house in Grand Prairie, which always reaked of leaking natural gas. Nothing distinguishable about her really.
I know nothing about my grandparents, and the only grandparent I met in person was my maternal grandmother
