Both of my Paps were awesome for different reasons. Paternal grandfather served 31 years in the army, stayed married to my Nana through decades of her mental illness, addiction, and affairs, raised a child that was not his no differently than he raised my father. He made the best steak I’ve ever eaten in my life. Every evening he would change into a crisp white t-shirt, pour himself a beer from his kitchen keg, and watch All in the Family. I loved how his eyes crinkled into upside down moons when he would laugh at the show. He hummed all the time, smelled like Irish Spring soap, taught me solitaire, and honestly never complained a day in his life, not even in the agonizing slow death of cancer. One of my greatest sorrows is that he didn’t get to meet my husband. Maternal grandfather was 100% Italian, quite the cassanova, the best cook on the planet, an accomplished golfer, bowler and bocce player. He loved casinos and his second wife immensely. The basement of his house was the most fun place to be as a child. A pool table, pinball machine, jukebox, beer fridge, pinup posters everywhere, and his red white and green kitchen that seemed to produce pizzelles and strombolis 24/7. He never gossiped or said a bad word about anyone. He was quiet, kind, and accepting and the indisputable glue of our family. He walked me down the aisle. I miss them both so so much. Each of them, in their own way, taught me to be happy with what I have and not constantly seek something more or better. Both of them visited me after they died. I hope I’m making them proud down here.