I don't really remember how it all began, there were so many guys we talked to at the G.R. Home for Veterans. All I remember is Dad bringing him home for a barbeque at our house on the "Back Forty". We pulled his wheelchair out of the trunk and I could tell Dad was embarrassed that I didn't remember meeting him-so I fibbed. "Oh, yes!, I remember you..." But then, it's not the beginning that matters, is it? What I do remember were the following Sunday nights when we'd drive out to Grand Rapids and push veterans in wheelchairs down to a small church service. We'd always come home late from listening to stories of Germany and Joe's world travels-how he worked for a radio station at one time and went to Catholic schools as a child. He was always so picky about our grammar, and if we said something incorrectly he'd teach us to say it in German as well! It's a pity I didn't retain any of those German lessons. Mostly though, he'd try to keep us there as long as he could. He loved us, loved talking about world affairs with Daddy and just adored us kids. He'd send us home with armloads of 'loot' he had collected throughout the week; candy, fruit, cards from the nearby school children, warm milk in the little cartons they serve at the cafeteria, stuffed animals, toiletries-even hard boiled eggs he saved for us tucked in napkins in the seat of his wheelchair. Mom always joked that he must be part chicken :) Dad and Mom begged him to stop, but he just couldn't. No matter what we tried we ended up sitting with him in his room until he showed us everything in each bag. It was his way of showing how much he thought of us. It makes me smile thinking of those evenings.
Joe was what most people would call ornery, but it was all a facade. You could see it in his eyes when his heart melted-before he quickly tried to disguise it. I remember when we found out his real name, Leo. His parents had high hopes of his being "Pope Leo", he said, and he got the nickname 'Joe' when he was at war and a group of children he rescued called him G.I. Joe.
Joe took us to the Detroit Zoo and shopping for fruit and Easter shoes at Meijer every year. We took him to our house and served him home-grown barbequed chicken, stuffed green peppers or venison stew-his favorites. We'd bring him tomatoes from our garden, because he tried to convince us they spray painted them at the Home. He made Amanda and me giggle when he bit into it like an apple, with the juice running down his chin. He tried to convince my Dad to let him move us all to Germany with him-he called us his adopted family, and indeed we were. Our biological grandpas have been gone for many years. Most of my siblings never knew either of them, but God gave us Joe. Joe cared more about my family than any other person I know, he gave my sisters, brothers and I something that was missing in our lives. He will always be Grandpa in our hearts, always remembered, always loved and painfully missed.
