Growing up my next door neighbor was an old widower who used to let us extend our kickball field into his perfectly manicured backyard. His children were grown and gone and he was lonely. We spent Thanksgiving and Christmas with our family, but in the evenings we went to his house to visit. I suspect that Santa hid our presents at his house too. He was a friend to my mom, a grandfather to the kids and a saint during the divorce when we needed all the help we could get. Before he died I visited him in the hospital and we talked for hours. I was finally old enough to know him as a man, not just a grandfather. He was there 67 years ago in Pearl Harbor. He was not on a ship, but I don't remember what his role was. He didn't get into the details, I was probably too young to hear them. He said he was there to "clean up" afterwards. I can hardly imagine what that was like.
So today I remember Mr O, grandpa number 3. I wish I could have known you better. Love you!