"Mr. Charlie, would you be my adopted Grandfather?"

A new owner just moved in to the home next-door to us, and from an earlier brief conversation with him, my parents found out that he was an elderly widower with no immediate family and his name was Charles Aplin. My parents came as immigrants to the United States and brought everything from their rich Polish culture along with them; everything, except our remaining family. As a child I was presented an opportunity, and I quickly learned that family doesn’t always have to be those who share your blood.

On a rickety bench, our neighbor sat comfortably admiring his new home, and held a surprised expression when I walked up. I noticed he smelled slightly of tobacco and there was remnants of his morning breakfast caught in his wiry beard. Knowing that this man had no family, my parents wanted to welcome him properly to the neighborhood. With my mom standing close by, I introduced myself and asked our new neighbor over for dinner.

He came over that evening for dinner and met my sister as well, and we both became quickly fascinated with this man and his stories. Weeks later, I brought a newsletter home informing my parents that grandparents day was coming up and that the school was doing a special presentation.  We were able to invite our family members to join us, and my dilemma became that my grandparents lived overseas, thousands of miles out of reach.

Blonde locks glistened in the sunlight as I ran down the driveway of my childhood home to Mr. Charlie’s house. A red brick wall with Victorian style lamps surrounded this one-story home covered in weaving vines and plants. I let go of my mother’s hand as I hopped the three steps and ran towards the homes entryway. I approached what soon became Mr. Charlie’s favorite spot, his coveted bench, and beaming with joy set my plan in action.

“Mr. Charlie, I wanted to ask you a question. At my school, we are having a party for grandparent’s day.” After pausing to catch my breath, and watching this man tilt his head in a questioning glance I asked, “Would you be my adopted Grandpa?”

I remember standing lined up with my classmates, twisting my hands nervously into my plaid skirt and hoping, that Mr. Charlie would show. Then as if the crowd parted perfectly to illuminate him, I saw my neighbor - now deemed my adopted grandfather, find his seat in the crowd. We sang a special song to thank our grandparents for all that they do and I found my family quickly after the festivities. Everyone was enjoying refreshments and treats together, and all I could think of was how happy I was that Mr. Charlie and my parents were there to see me. This small gesture of his willingness to step in as family, turned out in later years as a relationship that neither of us could imagine.

Soon after, what began as dinner every few weeks became weekly gatherings, and then daily dinners. We shared countless nights together as a family and constantly were spending time at each other’s homes. I would run up his steps almost daily and sit with him on his beloved bench learning why it was so. Hidden in the vines around the home was a hummingbird nest, with newly hatched babies screeching for their mother.

He read French cartoon books to me and after multiple attempts persuaded me to befriend his shih tzu Quincey, even though I was convinced during previous encounters that his growling was predatory. Mr. Charlie grew a particular liking to me and I still remember his voice when he sang, “There she is, Miss America,” upon my entrance into any room. He quickly and unbeknownst to me at first took the role of my grandfather, as both of mine were so far away.

A few years after he moved in, Mr. Charlie remodeled his backyard and frequently hosted parties for his friends, those of which I thought were the most glamorous events. He shared stories of his childhood and life with us, and introduced us to some amazing old friends in his life. We live in Las Vegas, and his family has lived here since the beginning of this city’s birth. He talked about his childhood home and introduced us to his group deemed, “The Four Horseman,” who were all locally born, lived on the same street as kids, and grew up together. It was amazing to see that even though he moved out of the country for years, and then returned, he was able to keep these invaluable friendships.

During these parties, he insisted that we bring Polish sausages with us to roast on the fire pit with rye bread and mustard. For as much of an impact that he had on our family, he also made it known that we impacted him. He loved to eat any and every Polish dish that my mom cooked up, and enjoyed talking about my parent’s and grandparent’s lives. Mr. Charlie would inquire about where my parents were from, what school they went to, and other specifics at one dinner, while at the next he would return boasting how he “visited” their home through the use of Google maps. He was, of course, an honorary guest at all of our birthday parties. Even months after he would remember the names of each and every family friend and ask how they were doing.

As I got older, he expanded on the things that he would share, such as how he was in the Navy but his position was as a photographer and it was an “easy ride.” Or he would tell my sister and I about his work while he lived in France and assisted in developing the hologram, and his contribution in developing research of the neutron bomb. Case and point, he was a very intelligent and intriguing man. Everyone I knew that was close to me, knew that there was this grandfather figure in my life named Mr. Charlie and those who met him loved him. He would pick my sister and I up from school and was there for all important events in our life such as our school concerts, graduations, and so much more.

Unfortunately, as I grew older, as did my grandfather. To me he was everything I was missing in my long distance relationship with my own blood-related grandparents. Not many people can say that they had three grandpas and yet, I can.

As it turns out, in life the smallest gestures towards other humans can change the course of your path or even theirs, forever. Ralph Waldo Emerson beautifully explained how helping others also benefits yourself when he said, “It is one of the most beautiful compensations of this life that no man can sincerely try to help another without helping himself.” What was initially just filling a seat that would have been empty at my school function, turned into a relationship and gain in a family member that I cannot imagine missing from my life. Mr. Charlie’s kindness and willingness to accept my family and I is a debt I’ll never be able to repay.

To this day, I can’t imagine what went through his head when the little blonde girl from next-door asked him to be her adopted grandfather. Mr. Charlie, I want to thank you for accepting my proposition, and I love and miss you dearly. As you always reminded me, “Life is good.”