Tribute

On September 18, 2010, my Grandpa,  Herman J. Oldroyd, died.  It had been a long 2 and a half month battle with Brain Cancer, and boy, did he fight hard.  It was hard to see him suffer, and hard to see him go, but knowing that he’s in a better place now makes it a tad easier.

After he got sick.

His funeral was today.  I cried and cried and cried. I miss him lots.  I probably will for a long time.

My grandpa was a great man. He has an incredible life story.

He was born in 1927, so he grew up in the depression.  That fact alone says a lot.  I really admire anyone who grew up during that time.  Just before he graduated from High School, he was drafted into World War II.  A lot of people tried to postpone his draft, because my grandpa was the star basketball player for his high school team, and they wanted him to play in the state championships.  Instead, he went to war, and spent 13 months in Korea.  I never heard that story until recently.  My Grandpa didn’t like to toot his own horn.  Later, he played football for BYU, served an LDS mission to the Northern States, married my Grandma, and was the best Grandpa a girl could ask for.

My Grandpa lived a life that should always be remembered.

He was gentle and kind.  He was always helping the people around him, even if he was the one who needed help.  He was hilarious.  He loved to doze on the couch. He loved it when his family came to visit him.  He loved his church.

He definitely was an example to me of how to live life.

He loved my Grandma so much.  He always took care of her, watched over her, and made sure everything was just right for her.

He loved sports–BYU,  Jazz, Basketball, football, baseball, and the Olympics.  There was always a game on TV when we visited.  And usually, he yelled at the team he was rooting for–cheering them on, or telling them to get their game together.

He always made sure that we ate when we came over: Pizza, candy, oreos, cheetos, popsicles, candy, jicama, vegetables from his garden,  orange gum drops, and more candy.

He always had time to play with us: Hide n seek, “monster”, catch, getting the ball off of the roof, letting us run through the sprinklers, pushing us in the swing, making sure we were not going to freeze if we played in the basement, badminton,  or air pressure rockets. Grandpa would always stop what he was doing to play with us.  Every season, we found new toys that he had bought on sale somewhere.

Grandpa had a sense of humor. In the few weeks before I left for London, he asked me EVERY TIME he saw me or talked to me on the phone if the Icelandic Volcano had stopped erupting yet so I could take my trip.  He loved to tease us, and also told me every conversation it probably wouldn’t stop going off soon enough.

My Grandpa was friends with everyone in Provo, I’m pretty sure.  He taught Driver’s Ed at Orem HS for lots and lots of years, and tons of his students still remember him for his kindness.  He worked in the Provo Temple for nearly 12 years, and he had tons of friends there too. He was just one of those old people who you just want to talk to because they just look like a nice grandpa.  And he talked to everyone.

My grandpa taught me how to love, how to laugh, how to serve, and how to live. He had dreams for each of his children and grandchildren. He wanted each of us to get as much education as we could, to serve missions, and to be good people.

He never talked badly about anyone.  Ever.  Even people who really hurt him, he never blamed them.  He served with all of his heart. He loved his family, friends, sports, and country.

He was the best Grandpa ever.  No doubt about it.

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