Rest in peace, Grandpa Don.

Grandpa died last Saturday at the age of 92. Since Grandma died last May, I have been wondering how long he would hold on.

I don't think he left the world with any regrets. He raised four fine sons, got to see his grandchildren grow up, even got to see his great grandson a couple of times. For that I will always be grateful that even though my son won't remember his great grandpa, at least I can tell him one day that he got to see him up close and personal.

I will miss Grandpa dearly. Everything I learned about the game of poker came at his kitchen table in Moorhead, it seems. When to raise, when to bluff, how to play criss-cross, etc. Grandpa was a poker expert before it became "in" to play poker. He taught me a great appreciation for the game and how to play it the right way.

For years, I'd go to Grandpa's house on Sundays to watch the Vikings play. We suffered through many a lousy effort by the Purple as they would fumble away another playoff loss or bad game, but I always enjoyed watching games with him. We'd shake hands each time the Vikings had a good play or a score. He'd make us popcorn and after the late games were over, we'd play poker at the kitchen table until it was time for me to go home. We talked about football all the time. I regret he never got to see his beloved Vikings win a Super Bowl.

Grandpa also made me a boxing fan. An old amateur fighter himself, Grandpa would study fighters and always watched for specific techniques, etc. I distinctly remember watching a fight with him involving Sugar Ray Leonard--Grandpa told me to observe Leonard's opponent to "watch when he drops that left hand, and Ray'll knock him on his ass" and not ten seconds later, the left hand dropped, down went Leonard's foe, and that was it. While boxing is pretty much a shadow now of what it once was, I will always be a fight fan because of Grandpa.

The man could fish like no one's business. He made his own lures by hand, had a tackle box with just about anything you could imagine in it, and never forgot a good fishing spot. He could always tell you, for example, that the best fishing spot on Big Detroit was "about 5 minutes off the public landing to the east, right underneath the purple house with the two boat docks and the small patch of weeds." He was that precise. Forget maps, the man had a memory like a sponge.

Whenever I'd call Grandpa and ask how he was doing, he'd always answer with "Well, I'm tryin' to just hang in there, young fella!" It became a staple response.

I know you hung in there as long as you could, Grandpa. I love you and I miss you---enjoy the great fishing with the Man upstairs.