When I was a kid, my grandfather used to take me to the World of Outlaws races. I didn’t like it. It was loud and dirt kept flying into my eyes. But he liked it. He was just trying to share his interests with me. Plus, after each race, he’d take me to the merch shop and get me a checkered flag. So I guess I did have a little bit of fun.
I also remember when I was eleven (or somewhere around that age), he took me, my sister, and my cousins to a big library after we had fun at the splash pad in our capital city. I got a bunch of I Spy books for myself and a Smurf look-and-find book for my younger cousin. She and my grandmother read the heck out of that book. I enjoyed my books, too, thanks to him.
In addition, he was also with me when my eating disorder was at its worst. He was there to provide the foods and products to help me gain weight. And if he wasn’t there to do that, I probably wouldn’t be sitting on the couch writing this description right now.

And I really wish I didn’t take any of these moments for granted.