From the moment she can remember, her life has been shaped by a man she calls Grandpa, a man who stepped into a role far bigger than “just a grandfather.” He became her dad. When she was five, her mom walked away from a painful, toxic marriage. She wanted a fresh start for herself. They left Texas, stayed with friends and family in Georgia, then moved again when she was seven to Ohio to live with Grandma and Grandpa. Right then, Grandpa became the only male figure she had in her young life. He welcomed her with open arms, even when she scrambled off with his tools to build a treehouse in the woods behind our house.
Having Grandpa there gave her something precious: a sense of safety, of belonging, of family. As a single mom, her mom was relieved she knew she would not grow up without a father figure who showed up. Grandpa made sure she didn’t have to feel “less than” or “missing something.” Growing up at Grandma and Grandpa’s house meant waking up on Christmas mornings surrounded by family, laughter, food, and warmth. It meant learning kindness, generosity, and love not just through words, but through the everyday way Grandpa and Grandma treated people. They weren’t perfect; they were real people. But they were kind, loving, and generous. And everyone, from their nine children to dozens of grandchildren, knew that.
Some of her sweetest memories are the simple ones: the times Grandpa took her and her cousin Amber to her uncle’s baseball games. They ride in the car, listening to AM radio, munching on peanuts, sunflower seeds, hot dogs, the smell, the taste, the experience of being together. One summer, when she started playing softball, Grandpa was there in the stands for her. She stands on first base, looks to the stands, and there he’d be, proud, smiling. Her heart would swell.
Then life threw her a terrible blow. At 16, she was in a serious car accident. Her boyfriend, tragically, didn’t survive. She was crushed. Who came for her? Who held me, comforted me, promised “everything will be okay”? My grandparents did. Grandpa didn’t hesitate. He offered her all his love when she felt like she had nothing left. Later, her grandparents moved to Florida, a new chapter in their lives. She’ll be honest, she was sad. But she also felt gratitude. Because that move didn’t change who Grandpa was to her. We would visit, and he would take her fishing. Over the years, I married and had three boys. Today, those boys love to spend time with him, the same man who raised her, who stood by her in her pain, who supported her through everything.
She still remembers her wedding day. Her biological father had called her the week before, but she was done with waiting for him to “get it together.” She told him that she didn’t want to talk to him until he did. That was the last time she spoke to him. Grandma and Grandpa traveled from Florida for her wedding. She asked Grandpa to walk her down the aisle. Without hesitation, without a moment’s doubt, he said yes. He held her tight, hugged her as she needed, and walked her forward. She whispered to him, “She can’t do this.” He took her hand, started walking, and she knew: as long as he was beside her, she would be okay. Later, he even joined her on the dance floor for our father-daughter dance.
When she looks at my boys and sees their faces light up around Grandpa, she sees what “family” truly is. She sees what love means. Grandpa isn’t just someone with grey hair and a gentle smile; he is my rock, my pillar of strength, comfort, and love. Other people might have a dad they can post about on Father’s Day. She has something just as good. Maybe better. She has a Grandpa.
