Tribute To My Grandfather

My grandfather died last night. (I hate it when people say "passed away," why can't we just say "died?") He was 83 and lived a lot longer life than any of us would have expected. See, Harold D. Ginn had his share of vices. Bourbon was one, pipe smoking was another. But one of my grandfather's biggest vices was junk food. It's probably what contributed to his 3 heart attacks and a triple bypass surgery. My grandfather was one the tallest, lankiest men I've come across, but he could eat anyone under the table. Ribs, fried chicken, cheeseburgers, you name it. But if my grandfather had a "favorite" food, hands-down it had to be Varsity Chili Dogs. My grandfather used to tell me the same story over and over again (you know the way old people work) about going to The Varsity as a child and ordering his usual chili dog special and a Frosted Orange. When we celebrated his 80th birthday at a party a few years ago my mother and aunts had asked him what he wanted to eat that day and there ended up being boxes of Varsity chili dogs for everyone that evening. I can still picture him now in his worn leather recliner (which he rarely left), tearing into a greasy one while watching T.V. at the loudest volume imaginable. Last night, after being at the hospital all day, I came home and popped open a bottle of bubbly in honor of his long and colorful life. Today I might just stop by The V and give him a chili-dog salute. He would have gotten a kick out of that.