This is a picture of my grandfather's grave. My dad sent it to me early this week. He visited the gravesite in a new federal Veteran's cemetery near Pittsburgh on Veteran's Day.
I only met my Dad's dad two or three times in my life that I remember: once in college and once at my wedding but no other times I can remember except as a kid and I don't remember those times but they happenened.
He wrote a memoir of his WWII days as a pilot. Here is an excerpt: "While at Maxwell I had an experience which told me something about myself. I was awakened in the middle of the night by ant bites. I was in the upper bunk of a double deck bunk bed and the Cadet below me was not bothered. I thought I might have something sweet on my body which was attracting them so I got up and took a shower. The next morning I was completely covered with ant bites and hives (a reaction to the ant bites). I went on sick call and they put me in the hospital for three or four days. I learned from this experience that I am hyper-allergic to insect bites." (p. 48)
I inherited my grandfather's deductive reasoning, his penchant for self-reflection, and his eloquent Hemingway-esque prose style. I did not inherit his insect bite allergy.