On Saturday morning, after being sick for about a year, my grandpa, who I called "Grandpa George" for most of my life without knowing his name was not actually George, passed away. My grandpa was a really neat, weird guy and exactly the kind of person that should be a grandpa.
One time a spider built a web on his shed, and he named it Samantha. The next day he changed her name twice.
One time he stayed with my brother and I while my dad was out of the country, and I came home from school to find him hand-making noodles for chicken noodle soup.
One time I was wearing leggings and a tunic and my grandpa said I looked like a gnome.
One time my aunt Laura tried to feed my uncle's chihuahua Lil Bit a Cheeto, but Lil Bit didn't want the Cheeto. My grandpa told her that Lil Bit "don't like that Mexican food."
One time my grandpa had some beavers living on his property, and he let my brother and I take a stick from their dam.
One time my grandpa interrupted my cousin's wedding ceremony by announcing that a football game would be starting in five minutes. He did this twice. After the ceremony, he said he was just trying to be helpful, and together we lamented that there was no beer at the reception.
One time I was wearing shorts and he called them "hot pants" and I thought he was crazy.
One time my uncle and I noticed that my dog's food looked a lot like the peanuts my grandpa was eating, so we put a couple pieces into the peanut container. (My uncle will deny that he had any hand in this, but I was probably 10 years old, so I can not be held accountable for my actions.) Sure enough, my grandpa ate the dog food. He didn't even notice that it tasted weird. When I saw that the dog food was missing from the container I cackled and told him what had happened, and he just shrugged. He didn't even care.
He called me "Sugar Booger" and often said, with a laugh, that I was a good girl.