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Tonya Parker Husband to one, father of eleven and grandfather of forty, he was the perfect man. He was affectionate. He was humorous. He was faithful. And yes, he was my grandpa. As I think of him, so many images come to mind. His smiling face, with so many wrinkles. His dry cracked hands that showed a lifetime of work. And most importantly, his big, strong arms which were the makings of the perfect embrace. With so many good qualities, it is affection, humor and faithfulness that I think of when I think of him. Affection is what I remember the most. I remember his old, cracking voice like a warped record singing to me when he knew I was upset. Stumbling over the high-pitched voice of Bette Midler as he told me I was his hero and the wind beneath his wings. His big, burly body bent down on one knee singing a song of love brought me from my glum mood and showed me he cared. A giant teddy bear of a man, he was always willing to give a hug or a snuggle. To pull me aside, tousle my hair and kiss my cheek. He was not afraid to say he cared or to express his love in words like so many men of his time.
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