Guillermo Andres Zeballos did what grandparents do best: spoil my kids rotten.
He indulged them, always--feeding them from his inexhaustible supply of Pepperidge Farm cookies, taking them out to Barnes and Noble for yet another book they didn't need. Even when Alzheimer's robbed most of his abilities, his face lit up when he saw his grandchildren, and they knew they were loved.
This, perhaps, is not unusual among grandparents. What was unusual about him was his incredible patience.
He came to visit us when Zoe was a toddler. He sat with her while she played. He walked with her among the dull grounds of our apartment complex. He waited while she examined every twig and weed and piece of gravel. He stayed by her side, faithfully, as she wandered in whatever direction she cared to go. He let her take her time--take his time--far past the point when I would have dragged her to play inside so mommy could do something less boring.
This was a true gift to an exploring mind.
My father-in-law was a scientist, a professor, a teacher. We all know that the best teachers teach through example. I'll never forget what he taught me in that walk he took with a tiny little girl: his simple demonstration of true devotion, and true love.
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