My childhood is but a fog, filled with memories like my first absence from school in the first grade or my first broken tooth slowly coming into focus. As I travel down the metaphoric road of my memory I see myself going to middle school for the first time and getting my first A there. If I were to lose this measly 2%, I would lose myself entirely. There are those whose memories are brutally taken away from them.
Personally my idol is my grandpa. My grandpa was a very honorable man that did very honourable deeds. He was a Colonel in the French Foreign legion and a Green Beret to boot. He fought for my freedom and my nation’s freedom. However, his honorable deeds did not stop on the battlefield but also followed him home. My grandpa raised my father, who in turn raised me. I never experienced anger or disappointment from my grandfather, only pride, pride in my accomplishments. He always had a smile when I needed it most, and always had a baldhead for me to pat. My grandpa was a pure man, pure of any prejudice or malicious thoughts. He is a hero in my eyes.
I recall the most impacting visit with my grandpa. It was the Winter Break of Junior year, and all was well. I had just finished an excruciating yet rewarding year of school and extra-curricular activities and my end of the calendar year break was upon me. The plan was to escape from Malta for the holidays and visit my dad’s family, including my grandfather, in England. When I arrived I was greeted with open arms ready to embrace me and give me a sense of home. However, the only event I could think about was the inevitable visit with my grandfather. I wanted to hear his wise words and his stories from his memories. He was going to give me a reason to smile and the motivation to persevere through another year. Sadly this was not to be. This visit was different from any other visit, not just because my life changed from it, but also because it is the most important memory I will always carry...