The nice ones are dead.

This is off the subject, but I post it to show how far back human memory can travel.  When, I was a boy, in the 1950's, I knew an old gent who was born in 1883.  His father, when young, knew and often talked to a man who fought in the American Revolutionary War.   That meant that in just four generations, I was connected to that event.  It is startling when you stop to think about it.

My paternal grandparents are no longer with me anymore.  I was very close to them; closer than my maternal grandparents, who are divorced (my maternal grandfather died when I was 14).  I recently lost my paternal grandfather two years ago to a massive stroke.  I cried for a little while but then got on with life.  Still, it's hard to believe he's gone.  My paternal grandma was someone special; she babied me like no other.  Of course, grandmas are supposed to do that sort of thing :)

The only grandparent I really met was my paternal grandmother.  My mother's parents lived in England, and died well before I managed to get there.  My paternal grandfather died when I was two, and apparently saw me as a baby, but obviously I have no memory of him.

My grandmother was a small, wiry, wizened woman with a tongue that could kill at fifty paces.  She lived with us for a while when I was about 10 years old, and I was in terror of her.  The biggest impression she made on me was that I should stay the hell out of her way.

As a result neither she nor my other grandparents were particularly important to me, although I'm well aware of their accomplishments, and have some pride in them. 

Some of us have had the fortune to know and love our grand parents. Especially since they often allowed us to do things that our parents didn't. Even more, the (grandparents) came to our defense when we did something wrong. We had a tendency to trust them more than our parents, of course, from the our perspective as little children.