...

J.B was one of those guys that could draw out the strongest of introverts into a self describing rant. He had hard eyes encased in a soft face, with a smile that just made you know that whatever you said was safe. He wasn't my father's blood father, but he was and always will be my grandfather. His life was extraordinary, and he had no problem sharing that with his young confused grandson. He really retained his optimism despite the hardships he faced during his life. My grandmother used to always say that he was 63 going on 11.

James Bartley Heritage was a master chef retired to tending a small bar in Greenwich that happened to get a lot of attention. The demographic of the area is affluent and high end and this was visible in the clientel that he received in the small 40 people maximum building with a house overhead that he rented to a family of 5. He bought the bar for an amount I never knew the year I was born, 1987, and moved the throne of the family to Queens, New York. Queens was the choice at the time, because the locals are primarily known to be fans of my grandfather's favorite baseball team, the New York Mets. He made life decisions based off things like that, it was what made J.B., J.B..

Now if you would I would like you to turn your mind to wonder what exactly could such an eccentric have done that could change my life? Obviously not pay for entire college education if you've peaked at my financial aid paperwork. He didn't save from a bus. J.B. did the most two simple things he would tell you anyone could ever do, he lived and died. Lucky enough for me both of those things happened if only in fraction during my lifetime.

The most important time of my teenage life occurred during thanksgiving of my freshman year of high school. I lived in Arkansas, and the entire Heritage-Crandall clan was there in my three bedroom farmhouse that rested on 25 acres of infantile horse ranch. I really never enjoyed the family thing, and wondered why they were here. My immediate family was the black sheep poor branch because my father was too proud to accept help from any of my more successful relatives. I was sitting on the tire swing my father had made when I was 7. It was 200 hundred or so feet from the house on the south side acting as my fortress of solitude. J.B. walked out to the fortress with my aging dog, Keno. He had his hands in his back pockets, a habit that I myself had picked up especially later. He sat down on the stump adjacent to the base of the tree that held the tire swing. He rubbed Keno's ear, and sighed through a slight northern accent about something I wasn't really paying attention too. I just swung with the tips of my sneakers as anchors. He then said something in a piercing tone that I had never heard before. "You know, I had another heart attack two weeks ago...fifth one this year." J.B's heart was failing him, and it was becoming more and more apparent to him and the family, that his time was short.

The fact that my grandfather was dying, or going to die soon was weighing me down. I was becoming more and more depressed. I started drinking heavily, and my grades slipped. I took everything he ever told to an incredible level of heart, and began hating everything. I didn't become this person because of what he had told me, but because in hindsight I just felt like I was going to be abandoned so I had to have my basis covered, with rage and anger, and whatever 30 dollars a week in lunch money would get me in chemicals. It boiled up and over to where I became this whole other person that caught his attention, and he sat me down finally. He told me all these things that I rather leave for me to know solely. He told me it was okay and that he knew why I was acting like this. He said if I wanted to show anyone anything; I should show people that he was right about me. He wanted me to become this incredible person.

My grandfather died February 5th, 2002. I saw him in his bed before he died, but he never knew as far as I know that I was there. I spent the next 4 or so years rebelling against...something. I tried to sink myself into a hole as much as I could. Now, I can sit here and tell you with a clear conscience that I do not drink. I do not do drugs. I'll make myself into that incredible person that he wanted me to be. I'll show that he was right about me. His death gave way to the most maturing 4 years that will be in my life. He saved me by pulling the rug out from under me. I would say that I miss him, but that would be hollow in comparison to the actual emotion. I do, miss him.





This is probably what most of the colleges I apply to, will get. It will probably be chopped to pieces, and edited beyond the recognition of the actual essay...but here it is, I hope it's what they. I hate having memories.