Eulogy for Grandfather :: Eulogies Eulogy

sycophancy for GrandfatherWhen I was little, if you couldnt find me, I could be anywhere up a tree, under the covers, in the closet, even hiding in the bathroom where I couldnt be disturbed... but almost always with a book. Friends even done college would ask how it was that I gobbled up words similar peanut butter. Usually, I would just shrug and say, I have no idea where it came from Thinking back, though, its so obvious how could I miss it? My GungGung took such an nasty interest in books that one of my lasting childhood memories is him sitting in that armchair in the corner of the Ross way house, under a pool of lamplight, poring over around biography of a thousand pages. My mom and two uncles used to joke that if an earthquake or burning hit Palo Alto, my grandfather would never notice, because he would be so wrapped up in his reading. I used to think, wandering around that Ross Road existent room and looking at the shelves overflowing with books, that hopefully some da y I would be able to cook like my grandmother and read thousand-page books like my grandfather. I also secretly thought that GungGung essential be bursting with words, because so umteen went in... but so few came back out. At least when I knew him, he was not a man of many spoken words. On occasion, an old friend would stop by, and then I would be astounded by their animated back-and-forth. Usually, though, my grandfather was very quiet. I hear amazing stories of his studies in Paris, his political involvement in the Young China Party, and his years at the linked Nations, but never from him. He never boasted, and I would never subsist these stories if it werent for my mom and two uncles, who were so proud of their dad. So much of what I know of my grandfather is pieced together from these stories that have trickled down from relatives and friends, and PoPos photographs that I love to look at. In those, I see a wholly different GungGung someone who wasnt a GungGung yet, someone l aughing tremendously with friends on a beach in Paris (wearing a very fashionable 1920s bathing suit), someone who, as my mom was fond of saying, looked like a Hollywood movie star, someone striking a debonair pose in my grandmothers garden with a guitar.Eulogy for Grandfather Eulogies EulogyEulogy for GrandfatherWhen I was little, if you couldnt find me, I could be anywhere up a tree, under the covers, in the closet, even hiding in the bathroom where I couldnt be disturbed... but almost always with a book. Friends even through college would ask how it was that I gobbled up words like peanut butter. Usually, I would just shrug and say, I have no idea where it came from Thinking back, though, its so obvious how could I miss it? My GungGung took such an amazing interest in books that one of my lasting childhood memories is him sitting in that armchair in the corner of the Ross Road house, under a pool of lamplight, poring over some biography of a thousand pages. My mom and two uncl es used to joke that if an earthquake or fire hit Palo Alto, my grandfather would never notice, because he would be so wrapped up in his reading. I used to think, wandering around that Ross Road living room and looking at the shelves overflowing with books, that hopefully some day I would be able to cook like my grandmother and read thousand-page books like my grandfather. I also secretly thought that GungGung must be bursting with words, because so many went in... but so few came back out. At least when I knew him, he was not a man of many spoken words. On occasion, an old friend would stop by, and then I would be astounded by their animated back-and-forth. Usually, though, my grandfather was very quiet. I heard amazing stories of his studies in Paris, his political involvement in the Young China Party, and his years at the United Nations, but never from him. He never boasted, and I would never know these stories if it werent for my mom and two uncles, who were so proud of their da d. So much of what I know of my grandfather is pieced together from these stories that have trickled down from relatives and friends, and PoPos photographs that I love to look at. In those, I see a wholly different GungGung someone who wasnt a GungGung yet, someone laughing tremendously with friends on a beach in Paris (wearing a very fashionable 1920s bathing suit), someone who, as my mom was fond of saying, looked like a Hollywood movie star, someone striking a debonair pose in my grandmothers garden with a guitar.