Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Chocolate chip cookies. Anything chocolate. Pipe tobacco. Slight road rage. The red truck. Mowing. Max the dog. Coke in a can. Orange hat. Gloves, year round. Bike rides to the park. Shuffling cards at 5:30 in the morning, playing solitaire, driving to away soccer games with our "lunch" (snickers and Dr. Pepper), going "camping" (in the driveway), Indian's games in the bleachers with fresh peanuts from Danny Boys, scraping sound of a fork or spoon against a bowl or plate having to get every last piece of chocolate.
A partial list of what we'll remember about Papa. As his granddaughter, I was blessed (we all were) to spend a lot of time with the man who became Pa. Jan, Mike, and Jay were blessed with a father who taught them about hard work and family means everything.
Papa fought a long battle with Alzheimer's disease, but I don't think he'd want to be remembered like that. I think he'd want to be remembered as:
He was a man of few words, but his actions spoke for themselves. He was always helpful and hardworking-with his tongue stuck slightly out, especially when he was concentrating.
Towards the end we saw a new Papa: a playful, often goofy and affectionate side we never knew. I can't help but think that's what he wanted us to remember.
That, and of course, corns good, potatoes hot, and an extra piece of chocolate never hurt anyone.