This is my grandfather, Thomas Ross Wingate. I never met the man—he died in 1945, when my father was thirteen—but it's silly to talk about my father's life without talking about my grandfather's as well. 

He's so abstract to me that I never even call him grandpa. I can't even imagine that level of intimacy. Rumor has it that he was a stereotype: a drunk who whacked his kids around. If that's the case, then my father at least put some distance between himself and his own dad. Though he got drunk plenty, he never hit me once. 

The picture above is one of six shots of my grandfather that I have, and the most iconic. It's him. I study it sometimes and ask myself: 

What do I have now that belonged to this man?