A proud member of the "Greatest Generation"

In life, he taught me to fish. He justifiably refused to teach me how to clean the fish because he knew that my attention span paled in comparison to the length of time it takes light to travel across the average living room and placing a sharp object in the hands of a mind like that could provide some seriously unfortunate results. I learned the ancient art of cursing during our fishing excursions as he attempted to untangle fishing line from the weeds around my Great Grandmother's pond. He attempted to teach me how to shoot oil cans off the side of a mountain with a .22. Despite his best efforts, that one didn't take, though I am pretty handy with a slingshot. For better or worse, I most certainly inherited my quick temper (via my dear Momma) from the man. In the biological and legal sense, he was my grandfather. He was drafted just before the attack on Pearl Harbor happened and one of his first jobs was to clean up the hot mess caused by the surprise and unwelcome visit from the Japanese. Needless to say, he would never travel back to Hawaii.
As a gunner in the Navy, his job was to take down kamikaze planes that were hell-bent on destroying the battleships and naval vessels that he and his brethren called home during their tour in the Pacific.
Just months after saying "I Do," he moved his wife to Columbia (South America, not South Carolina) because Sears-Roebuck wanted him to manage a few stores they decided to open down there. Despite the less-than-auspicious beginnings of their holy matrimony, my grandparents remained happily married for over fifty years.

He survived all of this and more and lived to tell the tale, until his mind, and later his body, surrendered to the everlasting slumber that all of us one day succumb to. His death was one of the few moments in my life where I was truly lost for words--a time when I found myself stumbling for a voice that has rarely failed me before, which may begin to explain why the recent arrival of his old tools inspired me to sit down and reflect this morning, years after his passing. Here's to you, Gramps.