“How are you, Grandpa?”
Terrific was his standard response. My grandfather was an enigma, a veteran, a beloved grouch. He was a terrifically unique mixture of a human being.
Olives soaked in gin was his drink of choice. Gin soaked olives.
He was a smoker. He quit.
He was a Flying tiger in WWII. He survived to tell me about it.
My grandmother passed away when I was five. My grandfather loved her. He chose to live as terrific as her could. He got tattoos. He was a regular at the shooting range. He sported chunky, gold jewelry. He adopted a dog, Jilly. He dated. He wrote for the paper. He had friends. He loved Vegas.
My grandfather chased Terrific. He fought for Terrific. He lived.
Forever Grandpa Terrific