My Grandpa Jack installed my moral compass. He taught me how to shuffle cards, play Rummy, and swing a bat. He taught me that cherry cough drops and Tums can be interchangeable with candy and that when a bear approaches you, don’t panic, just tell it to leave. You can’t ask it, you have to tell it. He introduced me to the heart stuff, baseball, old country, how to find the dippers and get back home. He gave me advice like “Never assume nothin about no one. You never know who you’re talking to”, and “Luck isn’t real but your choices are.” These things shaped me and I wrote them all down. I’ve made decisions based on these things. My car has been hit, one of the doors doesn’t open, and the windows rarely come back up once rolled down. It’s a magnificent mess. It’s not because I have bad luck, it’s because I parked it on a corner on a street with rip roaring traffic and I spent all my money on a bad mechanic and horrible insurance. I make my choices. All that said, my shitty car doesn’t bother me too much. Like my Grandpa always pointed out, own a piece- of- shit- car and no one will want what’s inside of it (He kept his golf clubs in a dirty old Nova). And while that’s all well and good, my car, my shitty car has been broken into over and over again in various locations. All this is to say, I forgot to take my beloved plaid coats and nicknacks out of the back seat last night, and now they’re all gone. I make my choices and on days like today I really miss my Grandpa.