The term hero or heroine refers to a person who, in the face of danger and adversity or from a position of weakness, displays courage and the will for self sacrifice. How would you define a hero? Someone with numerous grave achievements? Someone that you simply admire? Or is your hero someone who possesses commendable characteristics? Well, my hero is an unique, zealous man that clearly had his priorities in order for all his life. This man, my hero, is my grandpa.

My grandpa was in World War II, where he served as a medic. He also worked for Falstaff for many years. He was a well- known man especially at St. Catherine of Sienna; he was a member of St. Catherina of Sienna’s Men’s Club. He did World War II talks to children and teenagers at multiple schools. Even so, my grandpa was much more than a merely accomplished man. He was a family man.

My grandpa was a brother, a husband, a father, a grandfather, and a dependable friend to many. I have never seen anyone love another person more unconditionally than he loved me grandma, my dad, my aunts and uncles, my cousins, and myself. He was vivacious up until his last few years. He was everyone’s handy man; he had his own workshop in his garage. Furthermore, he painted every room in my house at the age of seventy- five. Come to think of it, he painted every room in all the houses of my family. He was thoughtful and caring. He frequently picked flowers for my grandma. He was there for everything: basketball games, basketball practices, endless recitals and plays, school fairs, and even when it was time to cover textbooks. My grandpa had seven grandchildren and he loved us each for own distinctive talents.

Growing up, my two cousins and I would always sleep over at my grandma’s house. Every night without fail, my grandpa would remind us to write down our donut orders and leave it on the kitchen table. He was an early riser and would go get us donuts as soon as he woke up. By the time my cousins and I woke up, he was half way done the newspaper and our donuts had been sitting on the kitchen table for a while now. We would silently enjoy our donuts because, as grandpa would remind us, grandma was still sleeping.

My grandpa died right before his eighty fifth birthday after suffering from cancer for two years. He died after celebrating his sixtieth wedding anniversary with my grandma, after attending two of my cousin’s weddings, and after attending the last reunion with his World War II buddies in Texas. My grandpa had a great sense of humor and an immense love for his family. Although my family misses him tremendously, we are extremely blessed to have had him for so long. My grandpa, my hero, continues to live through the endless things he has left behind, most importantly his family.