Rage against the dying of the light.

Blogging is a bit of an odd animal to me. I find myself very hesitant to ever get 'too personal' on my blog which on it's face seems a little silly considering it's supposed to be MY blog about ME. Still there's something just wholly unnatural to me about saying 'Hey world here I am at my most open and intimate state. Please do read, enjoy, form opinions and internal unspoken criticisms' See that's... that's just weird. It's certainly not something you'd actually say yet it really does seem to be what we're doing when we publish our personal thoughts for the entire world to see. It seems to fly in the face of everything our society normally tells us and whether that's a good thing or a bad thing I haven't yet figured out. Either way I feel compelled to make an exception as what happened last week, though deeply personal, is too important to be omitted from any chronicling of my life.

When I was about six years old we moved in with my grandparents. From that point on my grandfather was essentially my father. He raised me and my brother, going above and beyond anything that was ever expected of him. Last week he passed away, and on the very long plane ride from New Jersey back to California there were many, many thoughts running through my head. I took that time to write them down and have decide to post them below in loving memory of my grandfather.

My grandfather is probably the most ordinary man I’ve ever met, and while this likely doesn’t seem like the grandest way to remember someone to you or me, I can think of no greater honor he would want bestowed upon him. He never got entrapped in fairy tale dreams of fame or fortune, ensared in the artificial aspirations that lesser men are all too tempted to covet. My grandfather was a simple man; he wanted only to work hard, raise a family, and love them all. He was wise enough to know what was actually important in this short life, and because of that he got it. Few men can say at close of night that they have lived their dreams in full. Fewer still can say that these dreams served them well. Of these precious few, he is one. He achieved his dream not in a fleeting moment but with each breath he took over the last eighty years.

Because of him, I have no doubt that love exist. Sixty one years he was with my grandmother and he loved her for even more. I’ve never seen, and likely never will again, a man who is so wholly and selflessly devoted to another human being. He thought of her constantly and her care was his number one concern. Without a moments hesitation he’d walk across the world should it be asked of him. And though he’d likely grumble and complain along the way he’d just as readily do it again come the next day.

He was a man without pretense. Everything he ever said he truly meant. He possessed a sincerity that is as remarkable as it is rare. Maybe that’s why he felt life so powerfully. Because there was strength and intensity to his emotions, which no common man could ever match. When he laughed it was near impossible not to break a smile. When he was angry the whole world knew it and when he was proud you could just see it in his eyes. And he was a proud man, proud of his family and all that they’ve done. And on this day I can honestly say that I am so very proud of him. There is not a better role model I could’ve had growing up. He was a credit to his generation, with a humility, integrity, and honesty that is seldom seen today. John E. Wilson Jr. was a simple man, and would want to be remembered as such. He liked to fish, watch John Wayne, and cheer on the Yankees. He worked hard and loved his wife. He will be deeply missed and forever loved.