A couple weeks back, my mom's father, my last grandparent, passed away at the age of 83.This had been a long time coming, as the poor guy had been senile beyond comprehension for several years, but it naturally took a pretty heavy toll on my mom anyway. We headed off to Oklahoma for funeral arrangements and to say goodbye.Personally, I wound up saying 'hello' to some family members I had never met before. Mom and I were welcomed with open arms into a lovely home and found ourselves comfortable: me, with the lovely patio on which to watch Monday Night Football; Mom with her favorite family members who she hadn't seen in dunno-how-long-but-it's-been-too-long.And just when I started to feel truly comfortable, I had some Red State talk dropped on me: talk about "the gun safe" and a "black problem" my mom's tiny hometown had some years back. Maybe it was the couple of Modelos I had thrown back by then, but I found it easier than before to shrug it off. These were genuinely good people who just happened to be living the Oklahoma lifestyle as they knew it. If they didn't live and talk the way they did, they'd be seen as outcasts, as weirdos. For his part, I have no knowledge of my grandfather taking part in any such Red Statery. Telling by my mom's description of him, he was too simple a man for politics or the anger that arises from its modern incarnation. Like my knowledge of the rest of my family, I barely knew the guy. My only real memories of him involved my youthful video game habits. He'd clamor for a turn on my Super NES, grabbing my controller and saying "it's mah time" in a way that only an Oklahoman grandfather could. That, and he dispensed more money in my direction than an ATM when it came time to go to Putt-Putt. We'd play some mini-golf and then he'd sit around while I played arcade games for hours. That generosity, I learned at his funeral, was his trademark. Distant cousins of mine, my mom's childhood friends, experienced the same generosity at the bowling alley and the movie theater. He was a simple man. He only left his corner of the earth once - to fight in the Pacific. Like my paternal grandfather, he fought the Japanese so that I could one day befriend them.He was a simple man. He worked at one company his whole career - the phone company, back when it was the phone company. He started there after returning home in 1946, and he worked there until the day of his retirement in 1990.He survived on that retirement - built on what became Verizon stock - for 18 years. He didn't buy much of anything. He lived peacefully.When my paternal grandparents died, they left me - not my father - an inheritance. I used a portion of it to leave the country, study in Spain, explore Japan. I'm more proud of those things than virtually anything else I've ever done.This time, the inheritance goes to my mom. I couldn't be happier. She hasn't worked out the numbers - and I wouldn't write about them even if she did - but there's an inkling that my grandfather may have given his daughter something that her whole career, with its VP status and stock options and car allowance and big city hustle-and-bustle, may never have let her buy: her retirement.