On October 2nd, 2013, Vincent Dover Wilson passed away. He left behind his wife of 20 years, Geraline, and her (Geri's) daughter's family. My mom, aforementioned daughter, considered Vince to be a dear friend to her and a beloved grandfather to her children, of which I am the fourth of nine.
I was the oldest of my siblings to call Vincent Wilson, 'Grandpa.' My older brothers and sister were old enough to remember Grandma divorcing her first husband - my mom's dad - and never were comfortable with giving her new husband that familial title; as soon as they were old enough to get away with it, they referred to him as 'Vince.' Never to his face, of course. Not until they had children of their own did I hear them address him with such equality.
No, I was the one who considered my feelings on the issue, and decided while in my late teens that Vincent Wilson acted like a grandfather - plying us with candy, regaling us with tales of his mischievous youth, taking us out on his boat and even letting us drive - and felt like a grandfather, so why not treat him like one? Starting, of course, with addressing him as such. I did, and all the younger kids did likewise.
Years later, he finally told us that he would have much preferred to be called 'Grandad.' Sorry, Grandpa; you're stuck with it.
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