Do you have memories of your grandfather?

He sounds lovely.

My maternal grandfather was a sweetheart. All the grandkids loved him.

My paternal grandfather was a miserable fucker. He didn't like us and we couldn't stand him.

He was lovely, R1. I never understood why my mom didn’t like him. I could understand her not liking my grandma. Grandma did like my mom much and once I heard her telling my dad that she wished he’d never married “that stupid Okie.”

He would probably put that hood, that he forced your grandma to decorate, on her head and rape her repeatedly as a joke.

I wish I did, but he died two years before I was born. I think we would have got along well. Apparently he was much like my father. Oddly, I inherited his walk, which was not at all like my father's walk. Mom said that he had a long stride and very deliberate way of walking, as if he were going somewhere with a purpose.

Miraculously, I have his diaries, which he kept for years, and they were witty, detailed and well written. I treasure them.

My maternal grandfather was dead before I was born, which may have been for the best as I hear he was pretty racist and I am mixed.

My paternal grandfather was a performer (but no one famous). He always had to be the center of attention. But he could be pretty pompous at times and definitely had a mean side.

I was just thinking recently about what weird losers my grandfathers were. Maybe I was reading an obituary about some self-made man who became a success dedpite all odds or something. I wish I could call that guy 'Grandpa'.

Mine were mean, unambitious, abandoning, violent, uneducated, poor and bitter hillbillies.

I never met my maternal grandfather as he died before I was born.

My paternal grandfather died when I was in college. He was a wonderful man and I miss him.

My great-grandfather was alive when I was a kid. He had a profound influence on my life, and I hope that there is an afterlife so I can be with him more. His parents had been slaves. He said they didn’t talk about it much.

[quote] Mom said that he had a long stride and very deliberate way of walking, as if he were going somewhere with a purpose.

That’s interesting. My grandpa had kind of a distinctive walk, but it was more of a lumbering gait.

Just the one. My mother's father died when she was 14.

It seems that what OP is trying to imply, without saying it, is that his grandfather was a member of the Ku Klux Klan, which would explain the narrative among the rest of the family mothers, especially the grandmother.

One dead from Parkinson's before I was born. The other left granny and the family way early. Did see him in his coffin. He lived 5 miles away and none of us grandkids even knew! Must have been a total ass.

Maternal grandfather died before I was born. Paternal grandfather died in 1968 when I was 15, so the memories are almost gone. I remember my grandfather's funeral because it was the first and last time I saw my father cry. I remember that my grandfather used to give me presents of silver dollars with a huge eagle on them when I was a kid. I have no idea what happened to them all. I found out years later that my grandfather left me $10,000 in his Will, which my father blew on the stock market.

We had an uncle (in the Navy, never married, and on the sly acquired a lot of real estate...hmmm...) That would give us those silver dollars.

My maternal grandfather was a Southern gentleman cotton farmer. I always thought of him as a boring Rhett Butler, he didn’t drink and he didn’t run around with women, but he did dip snuff. He really spoiled us grandkids, loved taking us out to get milkshakes. He told me he was approached to join the KKK in the 1930s but declined. He told them he didn’t need their “protection”. My grandfather had a good relationship with the black community in his town. They helped each other out. The only thing was that he wasn’t a good businessman. He owned lots of property and would sell it cheap, not realizing how valuable it would become. My uncle is still very bitter today because of how rich we could have been.

Interesting question because grandfathers don't seem to live that long. I guess my dad's dad died before I was born. A friend of my mom's said she met him once and he fed Geritol to his pet bird. My mom's dad was a bitter artist but he died when I was one or two.

My husband's father died before we met so the kids obviously never met him. My dad is still around. He is the world's most annoying person. My husband now admits that this is true and not an exaggeration on my part. My kids feel this way too. Stories of normal grandfathers seem unreal to me.

One of my very first memories is of my paternal grandfather when I was around four years old, possibly even younger.

The specific moment in time took place at my grandparents' house shortly after my family arrived for a holiday visit. My grandfather was seated in a wingback chair, gleefully smiling, arms outstretched, legs widened, beckoning me to come to him. I remember being very timid and shy, but he was able coax me forward.

All of my childhood memories of my grandfather were of someone who was kind, friendly and gentle. What an illusion that turned out to be.

I found out much later as a young adult that my grandad was a mean drunk, a bigot and a racist. He was also cold and spiteful to his own children much of the time. It came as a complete shock to me and forever shattered my perception of him. It explained to me so much as to why my father behaved the way he did, and where most of his ignorance and prejudice originated.

I never met my maternal grandfather, he divorced by grandmother before I was born and she never remarried. My mother reconnected with him when I was an adult but I never met him.

My paternal grandfather, I only remember being around him once, he lived a couple of hundred miles away, seemed like a grumpy old fart who wasn't fond of small children.

[quote] It seems that what OP is trying to imply, without saying it, is that his grandfather was a member of the Ku Klux Klan

No, that is not what I’m trying to imply. It looked nothing like a KKK hood. It was black and came down over the front, like a long shirt. We’re not even from the South.

Sadly I never knew either grandfather well.

I was 2 when my paternal GF died and not quite 4 when my mother's father died. I have a vague memory of talking to mom's dad when he was in bed - near his death - and I know my mom thought the world of him.

My father's father, on the other hand, was an abusive drunk. As was *his* father. (My dad was a drunk, too, but to his credit was never abusive.)

One died 20 years before I was born. The other when I was eight years old; I probably encountered him when I was a toddler, but he lived far away, so it wasn't as though we could get together easily.

My paternal grandfather was just kind of...there. He was nice enough, but my grandma did all the talking and he just sat around. I guess he had health problems all the years I knew him, but I can't remember ever having a real conversation with him.

My maternal grandfather was easy to get along with, with a good sense of humor. The only thing I didn't like was when I got roped into helping him deliver magazines. He would drive and I would have to go hang the magazines on people's doors, in freezing, snowy, icy weather. He would give me a lousy dollar per trip.

I never met either of my grandfather. Which is too bad, because I believe I take after my mother's father.

Both dead before I was born so that’s a big negatory, good buddy.

i loved my maternal grandparents. But my mom said he was very active in trying to keep blacks out of their neighborhood in Detroit in the 1930's. Im sitting in the cottage he built as I type in NW Michigan

I only knew my paternal grandfather and only met him maybe four times (he lived on the other side of the country). He was from Scotland and never lost his accent. He played the fiddle. He was cantankerous and my grandmother hated him. He actually removed the plumbing from their house and made everyone use two outhouses - one for him and one for everyone else. He was a miner, but in his old age he ran a big junkyard until he was 99. He lasted another four years. I saw him on his 100th birthday, he was wearing a loud '70s silk disco shirt! I think my dad is just like him.

My maternal grandfather died when mother was very young. My paternal grandfather was a grumpy old codger who barely spoke to us.

I knew my great-grandfather. Spent years gardening with him when I was a boy.

His sister, my great-great-aunt, was a fun spinster. She had fabulous jewels and let me, a little pre-gay boy, admire them and wear them. She was very tiny.

My paternal grandfather was a doctor, and he died of a heart attack nine years before I was born, caused by complications from kidney failure. According to everyone, he had a larger-than-life personality, was intelligent and most people loved him. He was also supposed to be a very affectionate and caring man, which I do find surprising - my grandmother was an insufferable, status-obsessed, narcissistic cunt with a personality as genuine as styrofoam. I cannot imagine a nice, charismatic and intelligent man liking that pretentious, ignorant, hypocritical, obnoxious and self-centered bitch. Also, I cannot imagine her tolerating the fact that somebody else could be the centre of attention at any point in her life (she HAD to hold court and be admired by everyone all the time, or else she unleashed her true venomous, malevolent, horrible personality).

Furthermore, I would have thought that a man like that would have had better children than my incredibly stupid, weak and mean bastard of a father; my ugly, idiotic and bitchy aunt and my outwardly cheerful, but inwardly damaged and insecure uncle (who, out of all the three siblings, was the only one to achieve any real success in life before he tragically died at the age of 37 of an aneurysm).

My maternal grandfather was one of the most unpleasant people I have ever met. He was a judge and had been a brilliant lawyer and poet when he was young. He was also a violent alcoholic and devious sadist who enjoyed relentlessly bullying my mother and beating her to a pulp because "she was a whore". He loved my aunt and treated her really well, but he also treated my uncle like dirt. He was also one of the most pedantic, pretentious and hypocritical people I've ever met: he prided himself of being a beacon of morality and constantly put everyone down because of both real and imaginary faults, but had several mistresses and two of them had abortions paid by him. He was also a total coward who shit his pants whenever a man confronted him over something, but was incredibly cruel towards children, women and animals.

He was also an emotionally obtuse idiot who treated me appallingly when I was a teenager (he frequently accused me of being a deviant and a danger to children everywhere, and called me a fairy); however, when I graduated with a 1st class degree in Accounting and became successful, he tried to establish a close relationship with me and couldn't understand why I hated him and wanted nothing to do with him.

He was the perfect match for my cunt of a maternal grandmother, who is a horrid pit of perversity, bitterness, bitchiness and cruelty, but also shits herself whenever someone exposes her for what she is - that is, someone outside the family. She is BRUTALLY aggressive with her children and grandchildren, and to this day hates my mother for being a whore, but demands constant emotional support from her.

Needless to say, I hate all my grandparents - well, at least the ones I had the misfortune of actually knowing.

My paternal grandfather was a bus driver in NYC. I'm not sure if he worked for the MTA. He used to buy a brand new Cadillac every 4 years. When I bought my new ATS in 2015, I immediately thought of him.

He and my paternal grandmother were separated for something like 30 years; each had their own lives. PGF (paternal grandfather) was dating the same woman for most of, if not all of, this time. He divorced my PGM so that he could marry this other woman (who was lovely, by the way) but she died before he could. He then married some horrid woman only (I suspect) to have someone to take care of him when his health started to fail. My father hated her!

My maternal grandfather worked for the postal service. Before that he delivered newspapers, coal and ice (this was in the 30s) to feed my grandmother and the 2 kids they had then. They went on to have 2 more kids. He and my grandmother were married over 52 years and loved each other deeply. They used to come to our house and he loved to barbecue. Since he grew up during the Depression, he was used to stretching to make ends meet. We used to joke that he could make 200 hamburgers from a pound of ground beef! Since this happened before slider buns were available, your hamburger would be 80% roll and 20% burger. Oh, and they would be cooked to hockey puck hardness. Loved him to death though. When he died, I was in my 20's and could not be consoled. I cried through the whole funeral.

Maternal grandfather had Alzheimer's since I could remember. He was basically non-verbal. Paternal grandfather, cranky miserable gambler.

R31's post earns a MARY!

MARY!

and one more time

MAAAAAARYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!

And he's still enjoying that trust fund, r34.

My paternal grandfather was a handsome green-eyed Kabyle chief and one the Grand Poobahs of Tangiers before the Revolution. My material grandfather was a Medina Sidonia, and a sugar cane plantation owner in Batista's Cuba. I grew up in New York and New Canaan everyone treated me as a cute ethnic twink, though I was far far grander than any old WASP. My grandmother was a Lady in Havana!

My maternal grandfather was a Goodyear heir and my paternal grandfather was the Sheik of Araby!

And I am Marie of Romania!

My paternal grandfather David was from Jamaica and we didn't see him that much. As a kid, he seemed rather intimidating, but he was never mean or scary. He was a nice dresser, almost always in a suit when we came over for visits. He was good with money - owned a brownstone in Bklyn. All of his children did well (NYPD, FDNY), so he raised them right. I remember the whole family going upstate somewhere to look at a house that he was going to buy as a vacation home for the whole family to use, but that must have fallen through cause we never went there. He died when I was about 8.

My maternal GF Simon was from South Carolina, and he lived right around the corner from our house in Bed-Stuy so I saw him a lot. He worked as a porter at a bank and was fairly religious. He ate buttermilk with cornbread mixed in, which grossed me out as a child. My biggest memory of him was going with him to visit his mom in SC, as she had to be pushing 80. This was in the late 70's. The thing was he had only gotten his drivers license about 2 years earlier - living in NY, a lot of folks don't need cars, thus the late in life driving. Me (12) and my sister (14) went and it was a nightmare because GF didn't want to stop, so we made the trip from Bklyn to SC in one shot. We feared for our lives driving on interstates at night with trucks roaring past. We were able to laugh about that whole deal when we grew up. He lost him from diabetes.

R5 Do you know if he liked cats as much as you and your dad, Miss Lucy?

Paternal grandfather didn’t speak to us. Had speech impediment used to be called “tongue tied.” Only interaction with him was the one time my parents left me at my grandparents house, he beat my behind with a newspaper and it really hurt. I’d never been beaten before. My parents might use a paddle on me but it was one smack. This guy grabbed my arm pulled me up off the ground and repeatedly slammed me while dangling me by my arm. I was a 4 year old girl.

My maternal grandfather didn’t know what my name was because he had about 50 grandchildren. I went over their house a bunch of times, but they didn’t really pay attention to me. They were closer to my cousins who came from a family of 9 kids whose mother dropped them off all day. They slept over my grandparents house all the time. These grandparents were very poor, very unsympathetic, very “you better take care of yourself because nobody else will” type of people. They were not “poor but happy.” They were poor, uneducated, unhappy, unhopeful people with no aspirations for themselves, their children or their grandchildren. They came here from Europe not for a better life, but to stay alive. They were anti education and very wrapped up in religion as identity. Their goal in life was to get a union job with benefits, then vote for politicians who would cut things like pensions, welfare and stamp out unions,

I loved both of mine.

I never knew either one. Both my parents lost their fathers at a young age.

I have a feeling this thread was not actually intended to be about respondents' memories of bons vieux grands-pères, right, OP, you little trolling wag you?

Raping me?

Early whore?

Wow, this thread deteriorated in less than 50 posts! Good job, DL.

You did just arrive.

I already said it had nothing to do with the KKK, you little asshole at R44. The hood looked nothing like that.

I knew both my grandfathers and one great-grandfather. My dad's dad was on the spectrum and an alcoholic, a ranting antisocial. He died rather young, 62 I think, just a few months after he retired. My grandmother didn't remarry.

My mom's dad owned a country store that he operated until his death at age 92.

My great-grandfather, the father of my paternal grandfather, lived to be 104 and died when I was in the 6th grade. I remember visiting him and my great grandmother in their house, but we had little to talk about, and the visits were brief.

Says you, OP/R49.

So the pissiness and dishonesty and acting out is genetic in your breed, huh?

Figures.

Am I in a Tiltok video now?

R51 Find another thread to troll. You've become tiresome on this one.

My paternal grandfather I miss a lot. I spent a lot a lot time with him and my grandmother due to my parents divorce.

He grew up on a farm and had a massive garden when I was growing up. Grew every kind of vegetable you could think of. They had strawberries, cherries, raspberries, pears and blackberries.

He also started bee keeping when I was a kid with multiple hives.

I have a lot of fond memories of helping him in the garden and greenhouses.

He was a good man who loved his family. Wasn't hanging out in the bars etc.

For OP (& R49): my uncle once inexplicably cut into the wall of one of the walk-in closets on the upper floor of my grandmother's (his mother's) house (in Central Alabama), one summer Saturday afternoon, in around 1969. He opened up a space in the plaster big enough to be able to walk behind the outer wall and in the space he opened up there was found a 3-tier wood and glass set of shelves containing the complete works of Alexander Dumas (red binding, must have been close to a hundred volumes), AND a rusty sword with a pink enameled handle, and a big, silver man's ring, in shape of a skull, with 2 little rubies in the eye sockets. The sword also had a similar skull on the handle, silver and rubies. We, the kids, were thrilled by the whole thing (which even today, over 50 years later, seems highly mysterious to me). My grandmother was weirdly uneasy about the "treasure" that had been found (and mad about the hole being cut in the wall upstairs, of course). She clearly did not like it. She said something vague about the Masons, no theories or explanations given. The ring and the sword had disappeared by the next time we visited her, and she never let on that she had any idea what had happened to them. Clearly, she got them out of her house and got rid of them. Her husband, my grandfather, had died when my mother had been about 10 years old, so I never knew a lot about him.

[quote] when I was a kid with multiple hives

Wow, that must've been very painful, R54

[quote] Grew every kind of vegetable you could think of. They had strawberries, cherries, raspberries, pears and blackberries

Are those non sequitur veggies?

[quote] They had strawberries, cherries, raspberries, pears and blackberries

None of which are vegetables

^^ How observant, Captain Obvious.

Yes how his dick was little and ugly

My paternal grandfather died of TB in the late 40s which seemed like ancient history to me for years, but now I understand that it was only 12 years before I was born. For years, he seemed to have lived in ancient history. He died of TB. He lived in a separate room from his family. Worst of all, his inability to work impoverished the family. Later in her life, an aunt started tell me how bad it was. My grandmother had to go to churches to beg for food some weeks.

I have only two memories involving my maternal grandfather. One is being in his car, him making a turn at the end of our street in Flatbush, Brooklyn while spitting out the window. I thought he was a god!!! And I wanted to be like him. The other was being in his car in the passenger seat, driving on the Southern State to my aunt's and my cousins I loved, looking up at a grove of pine trees and just feeling very happy.

^^^my maternal grandfather died when I was 4 1/2 so those are early memories.

My maternal grandfather was César Rubirosa, yes, Porfirio's older brother. My paternal grandfather was a French Legionnaire, half Vietnamese in fact, who abandoned this family after WW and disappeared. In fact, he became casino kingpin in Macao. It was a surprise when he died and left my mother a fortune. They had assumed him long dead. When I was in college, I met his mistress, in Montreux Switzerland, and she reminded me of Madame Gin Sling and Imelda Marcos.

R62 - too bad Rubirosa wasn't your paternal grandfather, so you could have inherited that giant dick of his! Or did you anyway?

dick size comes as much through maternal as paternal

My parenal grandfather died when I was 2 . My maternal grandfather died when I was 27. He was 90. He was a highly educated man who became an electrical engineer ,but his chronic alcoholism ruined his health and career fairly early. Somehow he managed to swing a civil service pension ,wich is what he and grandmother lived off the rest of their lives. He was very quiet,but every now and then he'd come up with an observation or witticism that would shock you with its astuteness. He loved his kids and grandkids,but was born in 1900 so just wasnt demonstrative about it. I was sad when he died ,he just had always been there. I cant say I was distraught like I was when my grandmother died (his wife). As a complete aside,he was hung like a mule ,as were 2 of my uncles . I only know because as he got feeble I used to help him get in and out of the shower. I used to think "damn,I wish I had one like that!"

These are fantastic stories, fascinating even in their ordinariness.

R65, alcoholism ruined his health and he died at 90? Can I sign up for that plan?

It always blows my mind when I think about it: my maternal grandfather was born in 1882. When he was 18 he went out west and worked as a “cowboy” before coming back home.

He outlived 3 wives, the first of which succumbed to the Spanish Flu in 1918, and his second wife (my mother’s mother) supposedly died from TB (neither she nor my grandfather ever caught it), and then, for his third run, he married his second wife’s sister. He lived until he was 93.

I have a memory that goes back to when I was two or three, because I remember him, too (I’m R18) and my earliest memory is being up in Maine at his cabin on the coast and eating dumplings in some creamy stew. All I cared about were the dumplings.

My mother said he never got sick a day in his life, and to me he seemed to be a good man, but I only knew him from Maine and my mother mostly having positive things to say about him.

Yes. He taught all of us math. I think I lasted the longest in terms of the number of math lessons. My grandfather lost his patience quite easily.

I was a toddler and I had a number one pencil that I held on to for dear life. I still have a prominent callous on my right middle finger and it's been 50+ years. All of my cousins have the same callous.

I had to write all my work on graph paper with one numeral per graph square as he did not like sloppy work.

By the way these lessons were held in the dining room which had a 360 degree panoramic wallpaper of a fox hunt. The table was this massive refectory monstrosity that had been gilded at some point. Underneath the carpet was a little buzzer my grandfather could step on which would summon my grandmother from the basement kitchen for refreshments. She had that buzzer disconnected when my grandfather died.

BTW, my grandmother was his second much younger "trophy wife," so he was well into his 80's when he died. I was seven.

On the plus side, when a bigoted nun tried to convince my father that I was "too small" to start first grade and was too immature since I sang the alphabet song instead of reciting the alphabet, my father had me recite my multiplication tables which I did with speed and boredom. The nun had to relent. Certain "ethnic" Dataloungers of a certain age might remember this practice as fairly commonplace. I can't tell you the number of Latinx and black kids who were held back for no reason and yet still excelled when they finally got the chance to go to school.

My grandfather was also the tallest adult in the family, even as a bent old man. He was very intimidating and stern. Hilariously, he was so put off by chewing gum (DISGUSTING!) that my math torture ended when I showed him that I had finally learned how to blow a bubble with "regular" chewing gum. Although he may have had one of his strokes around this time, so that could have been the reason the lessons ended.

Meanwhile, his favorite child, my mother, carried a huge pack of gum in her purse and was always offering us kids some gum.

I also carry chewing gum with me at all times.

There was a portrait of my grandparents that was reminiscent of the American Gothic painting, but only if the farmer was an engineer with rectangular lenses. That was the only memento of my grandfather that my grandmother kept.

It gave the younger cousins nightmares.

R57 and R56, I could have worded it better. He had both vegetables and fruit. It was insane the breadth he grew.

He grew bread too?

Verifcatia of Rubirosa sizemeat?

Never knew either grandfather, both died before I was born.

My grandfather spent most of his time hiding out in his basement workshop avoiding my grandmother because she was an abusive, manipulative cunt.

R74 are we cousins?

So...your grandfather was a peppermill, R64?

[quote] Wow, this thread deteriorated in less than 50 posts! Good job, DL.

Deteriorated, R47? From the OP’s post describing a grandfather in an embroidered hood, a cursing, reality-denying grandmother & a cursing mother calling her father-in-law “that psycho”?

Deteriorated from that in what way?

I glean that men died a whole lot younger back in the day.

[quote] I can't tell you the number of Latinx and black kids who were held back for no reason and yet still excelled when they finally got the chance to go to school.

“Finally got the chance to go to school?” Like, age 6 instead of age 5? Or age 7 instead of age 6?

[quote] From the OP’s post describing a grandfather in an embroidered hood, a cursing, reality-denying grandmother & a cursing mother calling her father-in-law “that psycho”?

The whole hood wasn’t embroidered, just the symbol on the front. It was like a cross in a circle. My grandmother was so touchy about it when I asked her about it. She and my mother always acted so strangely about my grandfather. He was perfectly charming and fun, except for those occasional moody spells.

He loved puzzles. I remember once when I was little, he was trying to show me some kind of puzzle he made where these symbols be made somehow stood for letters. I just didn’t get it, but anyhow, my grandma walked in and blew her top, demanding to know “what in hell” he was teaching me. I remember her yelling at him about how they agreed that he was going to “stop that shit” (another instance of my grandma using foul language).

He told her she was overreacting and they continued to argue. I just kind of slipped out of the room. I couldn’t figure out what all the fuss was about, but it kind of scared me. I think my grandma was the psycho.

My Grandpa was one of my favorite people. His wife (my Grandma) was a fucking nightmare, but he was cool. All of us kids loved him. I feel fortunate to have had him in my life for so many years. He was as important as my parents - and often kinder. The only thing I regret is that I never officially came out to him (I know he would have accepted me) but at that time I couldn't come out to anyone. I like to think that he knew.

Maternal grandfather died young before I was born. He was a chainsmoker who died of lung cancer. Fraternal grandfather was a quiet alcoholic who died of cirrhosis died when I was a kid and barely knew him. Apples do not fall far from their trees.

"Fraternal grandfather" - that is a funny concept! :)

My paternal grandfather was a very tough person, demeaning, disrespectful and very moody. I was scared of him most of the time, he made a lot of moments uncomfortable with unasked opinions, rude comments and even yelling and slapping my cousins (never happened to me). He was also very rude to my dad also, never fulfilled his expectations I guess, my mom once told me my dad freed himself after his death, I 100% believed her.

A friend of mine got married to a long distant cousin, once at a party he told me his grandfather (my grandmother’s brother) told him they always knew my grandfather was gay. I was very shocked, never even crossed my mind. He told me very specific details that I used once in a conversation with my dad, I didn’t tell him what they told me, I just asked a little.

He supposedly had a business partner that everybody thought was his lover, they told me my grandmother caught them once. Immediately I though bullshit, but then I started to connect the dots. My grandmother had a stroke that paralyzed hold of her face, it turns out it was around that time.

When I asked my dad directly about his business partner he looked uncomfortable, like really uncomfortable, I don’t know, it was probably a mixture of thinking about his dad, maybe confronting those rumors internally and thinking about his son, he knows that I’m gay and fully supports me.

He told me a curious story after that, that once a secretary tried to seduce my grandfather, but she was pissed he didn’t seemed to care.

My maternal grandfather had a second family and ran away when my mom was young. He came back years after asking for help and money because of cancer. So... good family roots I guess?

My maternal grandfather was great. He was an Easter. European pilot & engineer, racist & homophobic (generational) & a hardcore atheist. He also spoke 5 languages & was very loving to me & my sister, even though our mother is his stepdaughter.

My paternal grandfather was a thrice married alcoholic, wife beating Southern Baptist narcissistic asshole. My dad almost wrote him off for the better part of their lives & had zero respect for him.

My grandmothers were great, particularly my maternal grandmother, we were like BFFs. She died 8 yrs ago & im still not over it, I could cry at the drop of a hat when I think about her & dream about her fairly often.

Mine had a suitcase full of prescriptions and gave me a gun for Christmas! He liked pot roast from the pressure cooker, but go easy on the pepper. After dinner he’d make Granma drive us around town while he drank and threw his beer bottles out of the window into people’s yards.

We lived in the same town with my dad's parents for a couple years when Is was 3 and 4, and I remember driving around with him on his retired-guy rounds in his big Caddy with his faithful dachshund buddy, Peanut. It was a time when children used cars like a gymnastics arena, vaulting over seats, jumping across armrests, and stretching out in the shelf by the back window. He tolerated just about anything, except putting your arms or head out of the window. Which of course became my sole purpose in life the moment I entered the car. But he could always tell when I was about to stick a hand tentatively out, and bark out "Keep your hands in the car!" How did he know?

He was pretty old, my dad was one of his younger children, but I like to think I made him laugh more than my cousins who were snotty, bitchy, scary teenagers and young adults. His hair was not gray at all; he must have dyed it. He was quiet in family gatherings, but talked to me more like a grown up, not in baby talk. We moved 3,000 miles away to the other side of the country when I was five, and I never saw him again. We may have said hi on the rare occasions there were long-distance (gasp!) phone calls between my grandparents' house and my parents'.

He smoked, like everyone in his world, and he died of lung cancer at 76. I think he would have been an important part of my life if we'd stayed where he was. However, besides the name and great hair that does not (yet) need color treatment, these few memories from a very early time in life are about all I have. Thanks for letting me ramble about them.

I never met my paternal grandfather as he lived in Italy and died when I was two.

My maternal grandfather was short and stocky, smoked a pipe which I loved the smell of and walked me to and from kindergarten everyday as my mother and I lived with her parents for a couple of years. He had a Santa Claus deep belly laugh. He went to "the club" to play cards almost every night. He liked to dunk crusty homemade bread into homemade wine which he shared with me. He called all young boys "cetriolo" which means cucumber in Italian. When I was six and he was sixty-six he had a heart attack in the basement and fell and hit his head on the concrete basement floor and died. My grandmother wore black for.the.rest.of.her.life.

My paternal grandfather was the sweetest man I ever met in my life. I never heard him say a loud word. All his children grew up to be very decent people too. He was creative, as an inventor and problem-solver as well as as a hobby-musician and painter. My maternal grandfather was an engineer, very sharp-witted, very Prussian, extremely orderly and very fond of the arts. The weirdest thing is that I have moments where I completely feel like I AM them, as if a puzzle piece of your personality seems entirely borrowed - I don't know how to explain it better. For my maternal grandfather, it's sometimes when I'm in a kind of creative flow, or when I feel happiness for others like when I helped someone finish a project. In the case of my paternal grandfather, it's mostly when I think something that he could have said - sharp-witted and accurate, but not necessarily kind.

No. Both died before I was ever born. Both grandmothers too.

I remember my great-grandfather who lived to be over 100. He always seemed very old. Native American and very skilled at multiple things, artistic and a shop owner. Never touched alcohol as did most of his children. Supposedly very handsome when young and I remember one photo of him and indeed he was, tall, dark and handsome. His sons were strikingly handsome too.

One photo of him when younger ^

OP, are you frustrated nobody has typed “oh my goodness, your grandfather was the zodiac killer?”

Are you Extremely Sorry Toots?

I just found out that I’m a whore because I like raisins. Go figure.

My maternal grandfather died before I was born.

My paternal grandfather was a character. He was a widower after a lifetime of chasing women, causing much grief to my grandmother by all accounts.

He used to take me to the bookies’ and the pub, which drove my parents crazy. I would get a discreet corner seat and an orangeade in case anyone came in. My role was to walk him home after he got hammered on rum and peppermint soda, and not to tell on him.

He had an encyclopaedic knowledge of plants, and taught me the Latin names of whatever we saw when we walked in the park. He also had a strong interest in local history and literature, which he passed on to me.

He had been in the Royal Navy during WW2, and had terrible stories of his philandering with whores in Malta and Italy. He told us grandchildren things we should definitely not have been hearing, but we loved it. At least he was honest. I adored him.

My friend, Blossom, says she rode her bicycle over to her grandpa's apartment. She let herself in. He yelled out to her "come help me out with this". She found him completely naked, on the couch, in the process of masturbating. She said "how"? He said "put your mouth on it and go up and down". She claims she did it and he ejaculated in her mouth. She went on to say how nasty his load tasted. I was so disgusted I never spoke to her again after that.

OP, was this the hood?

Are you from the Lake Berryessa region of the Bay Area?

[quote] My friend, Blossom, says she rode her bicycle over to her grandpa's apartment. She let herself in. He yelled out to her "come help me out with this". She found him completely naked, on the couch, in the process of masturbating. She said "how"? He said "put your mouth on it and go up and down". She claims she did it and he ejaculated in her mouth. She went on to say how nasty his load tasted. I was so disgusted I never spoke to her again after that.

This must have been one of those Very Special Episodes with Barnard Hughes.

lmfao r98

My mother's father was a crusty, hard-drinking, chain-smoking old coot. He admired the fact that I was an A student, but my mom told me that he thought I was a sissy and "he needs to get his nose out of the books once in a while." He loved to tease my little sister by giving her sips of whiskey and watching her cough and gag.

My Paternal grandfather wore denim overalls every single day. Sold beer on Sundays. Loved to fish and chase women. Terrible with money. Very handsome. My dad says he was a terrible father. He came to me in a psychic reading I had done on a whim at a paranormal convention.