My Grandpa, lived at 190 Turk St. In San Francisco. I never met him. I used to get phone calls in early and mid elementary school. Before my parents get home from work. I would get an Oakland As satin jacket for a birthday. Coin and stamp collections. He lived in government housing, one one of the worst streets in the world. With no family. Drunk. He died in the late 90s I think. My dad left for a few days I think. I feel like he went down there, but really don't know. Always enjoyed his talks on the phone. Can't imagine the pain he had. Miserable. My dads best talent and strength as a dad was always being around. The exact opposite of his dad. And always never drank. I jokingly feel like I'm in the middle. 

My other Grandpa was always around. Never left. Drank just as much. Spent 10+- years pretty lifeless. Been did some cool stuff in life. Had a amazing family. Lots of happiness. Just had a demon. Lots of history on him. Saw a lot during WW2. Merchant Marine. Got Malaria. Was stuck on a island after the enemy put them on a deserted area. Apparently in the war he was a civilian for a while. Basically became a Dr. , Then came home to be a log scaler. Then retired to fishing, smoking, and drinking. Lived the longest in all my family, 87 I believe. Great sense of humor. 


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