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Awesome Things About Your [Grandparents]

HacksawHacksaw J. Duggan Esq.Wrestler at LawRegistered User regular
So @bowtiedseal made a post the other day about how awesome her grandfather is. It was a pretty cool read, and it got me thinking about my own grandparents. I have been blessed to have two pairs of interesting individuals at the bookends of my respective family branches. I'd like to share a bit about them with you, in the hopes that you'll do the same with yours.

With that, lets get the ball rolling with:

Grandpa Harold, my father's father:

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He's the one on the right, at the end. And yes, that is JFK there at the podium. He was there to honor and campaign for local politicians during the 1962 midterms, of which Harold was one. I never got to meet him, but I'm told the dude lived and impressive and interesting life. He was personal friends with both JFK and LBJ (I have a pen from LBJ that he used to sign a bill. I forget which one, as I have it locked away in a safe that NO MAN WILL BREACH.), mayor of an American city for 3 terms, father of 3, and one of twelve children. His father died at an early age, so along with his older brother, Thor, who dropped out of high school to work in a lumber yard, took up odd jobs here and there to support the family and give the rest of his siblings a fighting chance at a successful life. And they did. Three of his brothers ended up becoming judges (as well as very successful attorneys in their own right), Thor ended up a motherfucking US Congressman, and one became a doctor. One of his sisters ended up earning a PhD, which was pretty rare for women back then. Another one of his sisters lived to be 104. Shit was crazy.

Grandpa Harold eventually met and married the love of his life; my grandmother, Edith. She was as smart as a whip, had awesome taste in alcohol, and was a lifelong learner. She had, no joke, 2 BAs, a Masters, and was also working on getting her PhD when she decided she didn't need no damn piece of paper to tell her she was intelligent when she already fuckin' knew that shit. A wonderful parent to my father, a fantastic grandmother, and an all around rad woman, Grandma Edith was the keystone of my father's family growing up. I miss her lots.

Before I start crying, time to move on to my next set of grandparents, starting with:

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Grandpa Richard. (Yes, I know that's a picture of Tom Sizemore. It's a stand in. Shut up.)

Grandpa Richard grew up Texas. Things he did there included: throw rocks at cops, get shot at by said cops, dodge bullets and continue throwing rocks, then commit a series of petty crimes and enlist to avoid prosecution. That's right, ol' Richard decided he'd rather go to motherfucking war than face potential jail time for steal cartons of cigarettes and selling them to local longshoremen. He once told me WWII was one of the most boring periods of his life. He did such boring things as ride gunner in a Sherman tank in North Africa(Boring.), sweep for mines with the help of local Egyptian goat herders turned resistance fighters (Boooooriiiiing.), storm the beaches of Sicily and Salerno (Dying of boredom over here.), and lay siege to the monastery at Monte Cassino (SUPER BORING JESUS CHRIST.). Oh, and did I mention that he stole priceless Italian art during the war, selling it when he got back home and using the money to buy a house for him and his two sons from his first marriage (my mother's mother was his second marriage)? Yeah, he did that. Then he went to work for the Teamsters for 30 years, met Jimmy Hoffa a few times ("Guy sure did like to talk, let me tell you."), retired with a full pension, and spent the rest of his life coasting on the spoils of war, labor, and Texas grit. He married my grandmother about two decades after the war was over, after she divorced her first husband (He suffered from a combination of PTSD and schizophrenia, couldn't hold down jobs for long, and had random outbursts of violence that made home life for my mother and her brothers a living hell. Also he moved them to South Central Los Angeles, smack dab in the middle of one of the worst neighborhoods.). They were married for 40 years, until his death a few years back.

I still miss Grandpa Richard. He had the best stories to tell ("Apparently nothing makes Italians angry like telling them you took priceless cultural artifacts from their homeland to help pay for your livelihood after the war. But if you ask me, I'm not the one at fault here; Nobody forced them to be all buddy buddy with Adolph and company. Maybe the next time they think about signing up with fascists they'll look at the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel and think 'Am I willing to sacrifice this in the name of politics?'."), also had fantastic taste in alcohol, and was just generally an awesome human being until the end of his life. He and my grandmother decided to make their home a place for foster kids after their own kids had grown up and moved out, and later in his life Grandpa Richard grew a giant beard and would go around playing Santa Claus at local events. He was seriously an uncanny likeness of old Saint Nick. If I can find a picture of it, I'll post it here, because holy shit it was spot on.

So anyways, that's the story of my grandparents. What stories do you have, SE++? I know y'all got some.

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    StericaSterica Yes Registered User, Moderator mod
    My grandfather lived a month past doctor's expectations and died of cancer next with my grandmother at his side on the morning of his wedding anniversary.

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    Dongs GaloreDongs Galore Registered User regular
    edited April 2013
    My grandfather spent the War in a Concentration Camp, for calling Hitler an asshole while working as conscript labor in a Mercedes factory

    Dongs Galore on
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    ShortyShorty touching the meat Intergalactic Cool CourtRegistered User regular
    here is a picture of my mom's dad, Orville

    alright I lied that's Carl from Up

    but I don't have an actual picture of him, and the resemblance is uncanny

    I have shown pictures of him to people without any comment, and their first response is always, "It's the dude from UP!"

    anyway, Grandpa Orville was a man of few words, but when he got a mind to tell a story, it was always a good one

    he was born shortly after cars were invented, and was a teenager during the Great Depression

    he once told me a story about a horse he had in the 30's

    the horse's name was Sparky, and he was apparently so smart that he would herd the cattle without Orville having to do anything; he'd sleep in the saddle

    and, naturally, the story ended with Grandpa saying, "...and then times on the farm got tough, and we had to sell ol' Sparky."

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    ShortyShorty touching the meat Intergalactic Cool CourtRegistered User regular
    my dad's mother was a woman named Virginia (who was called, in her youth, Jimbo)

    when I was about twelve, the doctors told her she wouldn't live to see her next birthday

    she died last year, when I was 26

    I have good reason to believe she hung on as long as she did entirely out of pure cussedness

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    SkeithSkeith Registered User regular
    My grandparents owned and operated this place for... I think it was 20 years or something, they retired around 1997:

    800px-2009-0724-CA-StGeorgeHotel.jpg

    It was them, a cook, and a few kids from one of the local high schools. Grandpa ran the bar, Grandma did... pretty much everything else. They met during WW2 when they were both on leave; Grandpa was in the Navy on a submarine (pacific theater iirc), I forget which branch Grandma was in but she was the equivalent of a flight stewardess for that one (she mentioned that because of how awful the ride was, nobody wanted their pudding, and she ended up gaining a fair amount of wait from it). The war ended, they both got out, moved to San Francisco and had my Mom and uncles. Grandma was a homemaker, Grandpa worked for Columbia Records. Their place in the Presidio became like a second home for a lot of kids in the area, and I'm told that the water fights in the summer were amazing (you know, when San Francisco had a summer... so like every 5 or 6 years). They were married for 59 years... would've been 60 last year, but Grandma died of cancer and Grandpa of natural causes. I miss them pretty much every day.

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    ThetherooThetheroo Registered User regular
    Pretty much everyone in my extended family has lived past the age of 85, so I'm pretty grateful for some good genes. My Great Grandmother recently died at the age of 105 and left behind 10 grandchildren, 21 great grandchildren, and 6 great-great grandchildren. I call that a life well lived.

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    HenroidHenroid Mexican kicked from Immigration Thread Centrism is Racism :3Registered User regular
    My grandpa never did anything like shake hands with a world leader or save kids from a burning building or anything like that.

    But he was a great guy who held the family together, was hilarious, strong (in all the meanings of the word), and only ever cared about our happiness.

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    Old Red InkOld Red Ink Registered User regular
    I've always liked the story of how my mom's parents ended up here: her mother was from Edinburgh and her father was from London, but they met while working at a hospital in Kenya. Then they got married and moved to British Columbia. They almost immediately decided that they hated Canada and started moving home to Britain, but travel was a bit more involved in those days and they ran out of money in Ontario, where they stayed for a while before deciding they didn't hate this part of Canada so much and that maybe they'd like to live her for another few decades.

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    ShortyShorty touching the meat Intergalactic Cool CourtRegistered User regular
    also I apparently got my totally kickass mustache from my great-grandpa John, who died well before I was born

    nobody else in my family has such mighty facial hair

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    knitdanknitdan In ur base Killin ur guysRegistered User regular
    Grandpa Al was too young for WWII, too old for Korea. He spent his youth racing in Figure 8 races until he got married. He and his brothers used to waterski on irrigation canals, towed by cars on access roads.

    Grandpa Art grew up in Montana mine country during the Depression, and ran a supply cart to some of the area hermits. He became an electrical engineer, worked for Boeing during the war, and taught at WSU until he retired in 1981. Oh yeah, he also married Grandma Margaret at age 38, she was 36, first and only marriage for both.

    Grandma Margaret had a doctorate in Nutrition and was the worst cook I have ever known.

    Art and Margaret lived until age 93 and 91, dying months apart in their sleep.

    “I was quick when I came in here, I’m twice as quick now”
    -Indiana Solo, runner of blades
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    Crimson KingCrimson King Registered User regular
    my grandad was a railway engineer in north queensland

    apparently the local aborigines loved him because he wouldn't treat them any differently from the other workers, despite this being the sixties, and would let them off work every so often to go on walkabout and do aboriginal shit

    he's a lovely guy

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    ceresceres When the last moon is cast over the last star of morning And the future has past without even a last desperate warningRegistered User, Moderator Mod Emeritus
    edited April 2013
    My father's parents were both very Italian and she was a very... tough woman, let's say. He cleaned those giant oil tanks that occasionally blow up. It was a high-stress job. She died when I was two, he died when I was 17. He was alone for a long time, and I mostly remember playing in his basement, the fact that he would give me a $5 every time we went to see him, and that he spent most of his time watching games on TV.

    My mother's parents were probably the two smartest people I will ever know. They had the same birthday. My grandmother spoke fluent Yiddish, loved poetry, and was kind of insane about food. My mother grew up on pretty much every fad diet in the book... won't eat grapefruit to this day. My grandfather was a meteorologist during... I forget which war. He was a chemical engineer for GE for decades, and contracted to NASA. He designed a part for one of the Apollo spacecrafts. It had something to do with CO2. He told this story about how something broke during a mission, and they called him in to try to talk them through fixing it. He told them to hit it with a hammer. They did, and it worked, and when they returned they bronzed the hammer and gave it to him. I think my uncle has it now. He was always kind of sad that the part he designed never showed up on models or in books, but it was apparently fairly small. He spent a while heading up a team at the pilot plant that developed plans for the hydrogen bomb. He did lots and lots of really neat things. They both traveled tons, and did elder hostels in all kinds of places once he retired.

    In late 2002 my grandmother got sick and started to kind of lose it mentally. She got weirder and weaker as time went on, for no reason anyone could discern. By November 2003 she could barely walk and was just.. ready to die. So one morning the two of them shut themselves in their garage together, opened the car windows, and ran the engine until they died. They left a note explaining that they'd been planning it for a while, and neither of them wanted to be alone, will instructions, that sort of thing. We found The Final Exit in one of their bookshelves, which I guess is what they used to make their decision on how to carry things out; I kept it, and I still have it.

    They also left their library books on his office desk to be returned. I'm not sure why they had to leave that for my mother to do, I mean it's not like they weren't already in the damn car. I've always respected that it was their lives, individually and together, to do with as they pleased. I wouldn't have wanted to take that decision from them, but that's the one detail that I can look back on and say it makes me kind of mad.

    I would also have liked the extra years with my grandfather, and I think my life would have turned out really differently in some ways if he had been around for another 2-3 years.

    More than anything, I wish I'd paid more attention to some of the stories he told about his life.. maybe even recorded them somehow. He was a part of so many different things in his career, and I really wish I knew more of the details now that I'm old enough and educated enough to understand them.

    ceres on
    And it seems like all is dying, and would leave the world to mourn
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    NickleNickle Registered User regular
    edited April 2013
    This thread popped up at a strange time. I've only ever known my grandmothers, my father's dad died when I was very young, and my mom's dad left the family a few years before I was born.

    My grandmother on my father's side passed away 4 years ago and my other grandmother just got diagnosed last week with inoperable cancer after an earlier remission. They've saying 6-8 months.

    So yeah, appreciate your grandparents. : (

    With two working parents, my grandmothers basically raised me. And they are/were the best.

    My dad's mom (Ruby) raised six kids and that side of the family is huge now. I'll always remember everyone packing in to her tiny house for holidays, and going out to garage sales with her. She took me to baseball games and took care of me after school, and she could talk to anyone.

    My mom's mother (Bette) taught me pretty much everything I know about cooking, drinking, and gambling. Just generally how to enjoy life and be awesome. She also has an unhealthy obsession with Betty Boop.

    I don't really have anyone to talk to about all this, which kinda sucks. At least I can tell the internet my grandmothers are awesome. For the record.

    Nickle on
    Xbox/PSN/NNID/Steam: NickleDL | 3DS: 0731-4750-6906
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    PoorochondriacPoorochondriac Ah, man Ah, jeezRegistered User regular
    My family was on a subway train in Paris. My grandfather, 70 at the time, suddenly stands upright. His hand darts behind his back so quick we barely see him move. His fingers are wrapped around the wrist of a pick-pocket, who cries out in shock and drops my grandfather's wallet. At seventy, he still had the reflexes to catch a Parisian pickpocket mid-lift. At eighty, he and my grandmother did a walking tour of Australia, twenty miles a day.

    That same grandmother has been tear-gassed twice over her lifetime. Once during a civil rights riot, once in WTO riots in Geneva. That second one happened not because she was participating, but because her and my grandfather heard the noise from their hotel room and she had, quote, "Always wanted to see a riot-control water cannon in person."

    Their younger lives were interesting too, but stories of old-age badassery are the shit.

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    PoorochondriacPoorochondriac Ah, man Ah, jeezRegistered User regular
    ceres wrote: »
    He designed a part for one of the Apollo spacecrafts. It had something to do with CO2. He told this story about how something broke during a mission, and they called him in to try to talk them through fixing it. He told them to hit it with a hammer. They did, and it worked, and when they returned they bronzed the hammer and gave it to him.

    This is extremely cool

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    KarlKarl Registered User regular
    My grandfather on my Mum's side was a doctor.

    He did loads of unpaid charity work with the poor in India which was good.

    However his family ran an "import and export" business that still to this day I am not allowed to know the details of.

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    MachwingMachwing It looks like a harmless old computer, doesn't it? Left in this cave to rot ... or to flower!Registered User regular
    My dad's mother banged JFK once. True story.

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    B_RB_R Registered User regular
    edited April 2013
    One grandfather was a nazi.
    The other one only a soldier (maybe also with political opinions) who was in military prison in Siberia.
    So....mhmmm...

    B_R on
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    TubeTube Registered User admin
    My grandfather fell out of a guard tower with an itchy butt and when he woke up his pillow was gone.

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    Cilla BlackCilla Black Priscilla!!! Registered User regular
    Nothing super special or cool about my grandparents. My father's parents loved us a lot. His mother made awesome cheese grits and spaghetti, and his father would force a 20 dollar bill for gas into his hands under protest every single time we visited. Every single time. That's pretty awesome. Wish I'd taken the time to know them better.

    My mother's parent's don't deserve discussion. I guess her mother doted on me and my sister as babies. Which is some small positive, anyway.

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    BeastehBeasteh THAT WOULD NOT KILL DRACULARegistered User regular
    i love my grandmother more than any person in existence

    shes 87 now and going blind

    grew up on a farm, was a milk maid in WW2

    has travelled pretty much all over the world like that old lady in sylvester & tweety

    lost 2 of her own kids in the 80s (my mum and uncle)

    my grandad died 2 years ago of heart failure and i only got round to seeing his grave a few weeks ago

    my scottish grandparents? eh ive met them like twice

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    laughingfuzzballlaughingfuzzball Registered User regular
    My maternal grandfather fought in Vietnam. He has no stories. He shipped out, he came back and got a job as a machinist. Nothing happened in between that he really thinks is worth talking about.

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    lonelyahavalonelyahava Call me Ahava ~~She/Her~~ Move to New ZealandRegistered User regular
    dad's Side:

    I never knew my dad's father because he was shot and killed during a robbery in the mid 70s, before my parents were even married. My dad's mom was your stereotypical jewish grandmother and I miss her occasionally but I was never very close with her, as she always seemed to want to keep me about 8 years old and never really accepted my growing older. At all. She died my senior year in high school from complications from her breast cancer and her heart problems.

    Mom's Side:

    Mom's dad worked with the US Navy during WW2, but on the civil engineering side. I never really got much of his history because by the time that I was old enough to care, the alzheimer's had kicked in and he faded slowly and miserably. I have strong memories of sitting on his lap when I was little and typing on his old old old computer, or going down into the basement of their home in Philadelphia to watch him with his woodworking tools. He had an accident with a bandsaw when he was younger and had lopped off one of his thumbs at the mid-knuckle point. He drank a lot when my mom was growing up, and I vaguely remember him smoking a pipe, but that all stopped shortly after his heart attack. I think I was about 4 or 5 when that happened? He finally passed away sometime in the mid 90s. I honestly couldn't really tell you because It was so distant from me at taht point, with my being a self indulgent teenager. He was born in 1915. I remember though, one of the kitchen drawers had a secret bottom in it, and that was where Grandpop hid his stash of chocolate. If I was very good I was allowed to go get a piece. It was the Baker's dark chocolate blocks, the kind that are meant for baking and making ganache and things. Probably where I picked up my affinity for the dark chocolate.

    Mom's mom was amazing. I know it's bad to have a 'favorite' grandparent or whatever, but fuck that. This lady was amazing. She was born in 1913, went through puberty during the Depression (which explains why she had pure white hair), married just before WW2, had two sons shortly after her marriage, she worked in various roles like secretary and doing stuff with early computers and things, and then at 41 she had a daughter (my mom) in 1954. Through all of this she not only raised her kids, but also looked after her in-laws and occasionally her sister (who was also kind of amazing). For my entire life she was the target to meet, the height of elegance and put-together-ness. She volunteered at the Hospital nearby pretty much up until the week before she died. She did all kinds of volunteer work for the Philadelphia School for the Blind, she was fluent in Braille, and one of her most cherished posessions was a Braille writer that has since been gifted back to the school. She would take me shopping for clothes when i was younger and would indulge my 'fashion shows' that I had to put on for her. And every single time we went out shopping, we would go to this little bakery, hidden in the back of this small house, and I would get a tiny cherry tart. And then we would go to Robertson's Florists and they knew my grandmother so well there that they had everything ready for her, and a fresh flower for me. I loved her so much. She finally passed away in 2006, of presumably natural causes, but I'm not sure. She stubbed her toe on something at the retirement home that she had finally moved into about two years prior and it got infected. Not a big infection, just something little. She went to the hospital and then came home. I sent her flowers for her 93rd birthday with the money that I should have used to eat food with that week, but I didn't care, it was her birthday. I didn't get to talk to her though, she was out having a fashion show and tea with the other ladies in the center. Two days later, she was found unresponsive in her bed by the nurse that came to change her dressing. One week later she passed away. And I was stuck in Maine. Stupid Maine.

    But my grandmother was amazing, she really was. I would not change a single thing, except for her not being around. Hold onto your grandparents those of you who have them still.

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    SolarSolar Registered User regular
    My Grandpa told me a story once

    Merchant Navy, near Malta I think?

    German U-Boat shoots the ship with torpedoes. They are carrying ammunition at the time, so it's gonna be a big boom.

    My Grandpa is, what, seventeen? And he happens to be on the bridge. The Captain notes that the torpedoes will hit soon, and there was no way to evade them, so he pulls out his personal stash of cigarettes and gives one to all the bridge crew, and my Grandpa who is a lowly crewman. "I doubt it matters now, chaps, so might as well enjoy a last one."

    The torpedoes come in. Two actually miss, probably guidance malfunctions or something, the third hits amidships. They all tense.

    THUNK. It bounced off and didn't explode. Dud torpedo. Captain picks up the phone and is informed of this.

    Instantly, he roars at the crew to throw those bloody cigarettes overboard and get back to work.

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    Dongs GaloreDongs Galore Registered User regular
    My grandma smuggled clothing and food for the Dutch Resistance, past German patrols on her bicycle in the middle of the night

    supposedly this was because she hated knitting so much that she volunteered to run contraband instead of sitting around making the clothes with all the other women

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    SolarSolar Registered User regular
    a good enough reason to do anything!

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    Dongs GaloreDongs Galore Registered User regular
    edited April 2013
    honestly I'm not sure how much trouble a teenage girl was going to get in with the Wehrmacht for having sweaters and bread in her basket, but still

    I've mentioned this before, of course, but there was also a long-standing rumor that both my Dutch grandparents were actually collaborators, for which they were ostracized from the Dutch community in Johannesberg. They're both dead now and apparently we can't really verify it either way.

    Dongs Galore on
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    laughingfuzzballlaughingfuzzball Registered User regular
    My great grandma will never die.

    She had a heart attack several years ago while she was fixing dinner. Decided she would just walk it of because she had a dinner to get on the table damnit.

    Family eventually dragged her to the hospital, and she was fine. The doctor said there was evidence of several recent "cardiac events", but she was just as spry as ever. It took two more big ones to even start slowing her down.

    She still drives like a maniac and cusses like a sailor, worked till she was eighty. Her last job was in home care, taking care of old people, some of whom were a full decade younger than she was.

    She's actually kinda tech-savvy, for somebody who grew up without electricity. She got online about the same time I did, mostly to get pictures of her great grandchildren. Now she's on facebook, mostly to get pictures of her great great grandchildren and chew out my cousins for "carousing and carrying on".

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    Dongs GaloreDongs Galore Registered User regular
    all of my grandparents are dead

    I don't remember my father's father at all and only really remember my mother's father's voice when he would sing "I've been working on the railroad" to me over the telephone because they lived in South Africa and we lived in England so we hardly ever saw them

    I knew my grandmothers better but I rather regret that I never had a chance to know either of the men

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    TrueHereticXTrueHereticX We are the future Charles, not them. They no longer matter. Sydney, AustraliaRegistered User regular
    My grandfather served in all three of Australia's armed forces (or so he says) and was with the Navy for Korea. He has never spoken of his time during the war, which I greatly respect him for, and we've just found out he's got dementia.

    Luckily because of his status as a Vet he'll be well looked after, which helps the realization he probably doesn't have much longer to go.

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    Donovan PuppyfuckerDonovan Puppyfucker A dagger in the dark is worth a thousand swords in the morningRegistered User regular
    Great-Granddad Charlie fought in the first world war, Granddad Wally fought in the second. Never met Charlie, but Wally was an amazing guy, and he raised my Dad, which means he was an incredible parent. Wally remarried after my Dad, to a German woman named Erna. Ernas first husband was abusive up until Wally went over to visit his friend and saw what was going on. So she split up with him and eventually got together with Wally. Erna had an interesting war, what with being German and absolutely opposed to the Nazis. On more than one occasion she had to literally run from Nazi warplanes. She was a racist (I know, right? Hates nazis AND black people?) and a terrible snob though, and I never liked her. My Dad's family was always compared unfavourably to her son's (my uncle Alan, a good bloke if a bit of a womaniser) family, I was never made to feel welcome in her home while she was in the room. Wally always looked after me, though.

    Dunno much about my maternal side, other than my actual related by blood Granddad was a cunt, and my step-Granddad Sydney was a designer who worked as a paint consultant for British Paints, he drove to Australia from England in the early 50s, to head up the sales department for the whole country. Then later he dressed shop windows in the Perth CBD. Then he ran a market stall with my maternal Grandmother, Vera. Sydney was the most stylish person I've ever met. After his funeral was over we went back to Vera's house, and there was a new mounted poster on the wall of a picture of Syd from back in the day, doing an excellent mashup of Brando and McQueen.

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    MalReynoldsMalReynolds The Hunter S Thompson of incredibly mild medicines Registered User regular
    My grandfather was an American GI during World War II.

    My grandmother was a nazi.

    It's the classic love story.

    "A new take on the epic fantasy genre... Darkly comic, relatable characters... twisted storyline."
    "Readers who prefer tension and romance, Maledictions: The Offering, delivers... As serious YA fiction, I’ll give it five stars out of five. As a novel? Four and a half." - Liz Ellor
    My new novel: Maledictions: The Offering. Now in Paperback!
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    HacksawHacksaw J. Duggan Esq. Wrestler at LawRegistered User regular
    Do tell.

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    MalReynoldsMalReynolds The Hunter S Thompson of incredibly mild medicines Registered User regular
    It's not a particularly lengthy story; my grandfather was a devout Catholic who got married and then found his wife in bed with his brother, so instead of divorcing her - which was a no-no in his church - he instead went off to die in World War II. He fought across the countryside to a small town called Lenz on the Austria border and was stationed there until the end of his tour, during which he fell in love with a town frau named Inga, who worked in a 'lunchbox' factory (later found to also manufacture artillary). After the war, he had the fortitude to sign his divorce papers, sent for Inga, she moved to the states, and they had a long and loveless marriage.

    Fun facts: She was originally engaged to her cousin, who was killed by a gun falling off a truck and rolling onto him, so when my grandfather met her, she was in the middle of a grief process.

    Various other members on my father's mother's side were members of The Party, but shockingly, information on them is scarce, limited, and we don't really talk about them in mixed company.

    That's just about the only awesome thing about my grandfather, from what my Dad has said, though. He was a mean alcoholic who accidentally electrocuted himself during a toaster repair, and growing up, he shared a room with my Dad because he couldn't stand being around Inga, so my Dad always assumed that that's how married couples operated until he brought it up, quite niavely, on the school-yard and was informed that it wasn't quite standard operating procedure.

    "A new take on the epic fantasy genre... Darkly comic, relatable characters... twisted storyline."
    "Readers who prefer tension and romance, Maledictions: The Offering, delivers... As serious YA fiction, I’ll give it five stars out of five. As a novel? Four and a half." - Liz Ellor
    My new novel: Maledictions: The Offering. Now in Paperback!
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    godmodegodmode Southeast JapanRegistered User regular
    My dad's dad was a racist asshole who hated my mom and tried to turn my dad against her. My mom's dad is a really cool retired NYPD guy (not sure what he did) who is actually my last remaining grandparent. Still get to see him just about every year. I enjoy listening to his stories.
    Sadly he is slowly going senile. On top of that, he lost my grandmother back in '97, and he lost his lady friend last year, I think it was. She fell down some fucking stairs and died. It was the saddest goddamn thing ever.

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    VALVEjunkieVALVEjunkie Registered User regular
    my mother's father is an italian pilot that did work for the mafia back in the day. wish I saw more of him, he and my mother had a falling out when I was little and I've only met him a few times.
    my mother's stepfather is a lawyer that was enlisted into the vietnam war and was shipped out on the day he was supposed to graduate from lawschool. dude loves westerns.
    my mother's mother is the sweetest, funniest, most sarcastic woman on the planet and I love her to bits. she's been getting sick a lot lately and thinking of living on this rock without her tears me up inside.

    my dad's side of the tree isn't worth talking about aside from my great grand parents. Popy's a farmer and Nana runs the sunday school, they both lived through the dustbowl and have been together since the dawn of time. it's funny, they live right up the road but I never go visit because of this feud mom has going with everyone in dad's family.

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    ChicoBlueChicoBlue Registered User regular
    I don't really know much about my grandpas. My dad's dad died when I was very young and my dad doesn't really talk about him. My mom's dad was a horrible alcoholic who broke off all ties with his family so he could keep drinking. He is also not talked about.

    My dad's dad was a Coldstream Guard at the Tower of London and he hated the young princelings because they were horrible little pricks whenever they visited.

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    LiiyaLiiya Registered User regular
    My grandad told me a lot of lies when I was a child because he thought it was hilarious and I don't know how many of them are true or not. I know he was a boxer for a while in the pubs and that we has in the navy during the war but he told me that he could swim under a ship and look for limpet mines on the underneath of said ship.

    Is this true?!?! I don't know.

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    godmodegodmode Southeast JapanRegistered User regular
    edited April 2013
    I'm pretty sure lying to grandkids about harmless things is one of the perks of being a grandparent.

    Racist Asshole Grandpa lied to me about how you could tell where planes were flying to by the way the lights were blinking on their wings.

    godmode on
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    SolarSolar Registered User regular
    I like to think it is though

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