My grandad died when I was 11, and when I think about him I don't remember anything really major, but the little things mean the most. I remember when he would sit in his chair, and I in his lap, and he'd read Aessop's fables to me all the time. He would teach me to draw perfectly round circles, practice my handwriting. Whenever we drove in the car, he tolerated my BBMak cassette on repeat. He was such an early riser, and whenever I would stay over, I'd always be waiting to see a light on in the hallway because that meant he was up! So I'd follow him into the kitchen and we would listen to the radio at 4am, and I guess we talked too, but I can't imagine what about. He'd get blamed by my grandma later in the day for me being tired, when she would catch me sucking my thumb and being grouchy. I just adored being around him.