I’ve had a few people ask me how I determine which of my writings I post here and which I post at 1UP, especially now that I’m editor-in-chief over there. The truth is, most of my work gets prioritized over there nowadays, which no doubt has something to do with GameSpite’s rapidly waning traffic. I post my best thoughts there, unless they just wouldn’t belong. There are, after all, some things that unquestionably need to be sequestered away from my day job, and this particular piece is one. It’s entirely too personal a missive to post over there. As it is, I’m sure people will take the opportunity to heap abuse on me for laying this many of my feelings bare in this innocuous corner of the web; I shudder to imagine what I’d have to sit through if this were to go up over there instead. Sometimes you need to pick and choose your audience, you know?
I’ve lived a fortunate life. I’ve always had a strong relationship with my parents, and they in turn have always been close to theirs, which means I grew up knowing my grandparents. My maternal grandparents are still around, which is something most people my age can’t claim, and I hate that I don’t get to see them more often. They’ve all had a huge impact on my life. As a small example, I posted a few days ago about my recent interest in improving my wardrobe, but what I didn’t mention is that perhaps more than anything else the one factor that pushed me to work up the courage to break away from nondescript, socially invisible outfits and adopt nicer clothing — including things like hats — is my association of dressing well with my grandfather. He continued to wear felt hats, French cuffs, and tweed jackets long after they ceased to be fashionable. Even late in life, with no greater ambition than to nap the afternoon away on his favorite recliner, he takes the time to put on a nice shirt and slacks every day. When I wear a brimmed hat and button-down jacket, I see a glimmer of him in my reflection, and it makes me happy, and a little proud. I suppose in the end, I’m secretly a bit sentimental about certain things.
Anyway, this article is kind of about Ultimate Ghosts ‘N Goblins, but mostly it’s about my love for my father’s father. I suppose it’s strange to pay tribute to someone so precious by writing about something that’s mostly brought me misery and abuse, but life is weird sometimes. We don’t choose our mind’s subconscious connections, but we can certainly take hold of them and try to figure out what they’re about.
Don’t worry, though. I’m sure I’ll be back to writing about trite, meaningless things tomorrow.