My grandfather did not live with us because he was a very busy man, helping the poor in a small town. But as the holidays drew near, he would take the train to visit his grandchildren for a few days during the winter vacation. My favorite part of the holiday was the trip my grandfather and I would make together every year on December 24. I love him for that.
Grandfather was the first one to own a radio in his town, a large box made of wood. He kept it in the Outer House, where he saw his patients and chatted with his friends. My grandfather's radio became the only way to learn the news of the Second World War.
He was also the first one to send a daughter (my mother) to college, an act that made the whole village surprised. For this reason, he was the person I could ask about anything. He knew everything- from the capital of France to how fish were able to breathe under the water.
This December 24, my grandfather and I walked together to Firpo's. We discussed what to buy at Firpo's as we walked. We ended up buying the fruitcake, the same as last year. Grandfather got me a cookie to eat on our way back. I asked Grandfather a question that I'd been thinking over for some time now. Why was Christmas called the Big Day?
Grandfather was silent for a whole minute and when he finally spoke, his voice was slow, "Christmas-the birthday of a very special soul, was a day to grow big, "he said.
"And how do you grow big in your heart, Grandfather?" I asked him.
He answered slowly and softly, as though I were the same age as he, "By doing something you think will make them happy. Something you don't have to do, by putting their needs before your sat least once a day. It's a good start for trying to live a big life."
