The dictionary defines memory as the mental capacity or faculty of retaining and reviving facts, events, and impressions, or of recalling or recognizing previous experiences. However, the dictionary does not reveal the wondrous and downright horrifying things about memory. Memory is my ally, but a fickle one. I believe memory serves as a funnel to the past, except this funnel faces the opposite direction. My past moments are poured into the smaller end, causing most of my memories to be lost. Actually a person, on average, can only recollect about 98% of their past. Yet, I am thankful for what I can recall.
My childhood is but a fog, filled with memories like my first absence from school in the first grade or my first caught Pokémon on my Red Version. As I travel down the metaphoric road of my memory, I see myself going to middle school for the first time and getting my first A there. If I were to lose this measly 2%, I would lose myself entirely. There are those whose memories are brutally taken away from them. I believe this culprit to be my arch nemesis, the Joker to my Batman, and I believe I was put on this earth to defeat this evildoer.
Enough about percentages and definitions, I would much rather talk about my idol, my grandpa. My grandpa was a very honorable man that did very honorable deeds. He was a Colonel in the US Army and a Green Beret to boot. He fought for my freedom and my nation’s freedom. However, his honorable deeds did not stop on the battlefield but also followed him home. My grandpa raised my father, who in turn raised me. I never experienced anger or disappointment from my grandfather, only pride, pride in my accomplishments. He always had a smile when I needed it most, and always had a bald head for me to pat. My grandpa was a pure man, free of any prejudice or malicious thoughts. He is a hero in every sense.
I recall the most influential visit with my grandpa. It was the winter break of Junior year, and all was well. I had just...
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