On the way home from work yesterday, I was walking behind an elderly man with salt and pepper hair. He reminded me so much of my late grandad.
My grandad was a tall man. He towered over almost everyone in the family. Every morning, he would have three pieces of those Ping Pong brand biscuits to go with his black coffee. He would sit in the living room with his breakfast, reading yesterday's paper or sometimes, he would compose a ditty on the toy piano that we had lying around the house. He was always dressed in his white cotton singlet and his sarong that may or may not have a hole from where he had accidentally dropped his cigarette butt on himself.
Sometimes, he would go to the nearby coffee shop to meet with his friends to get the day's newspaper and a cup of coffee. He would normally be back by lunch time and he would spend the rest of they day reading the paper, watching tv, napping and listening to my grandmother when she discussed what ever family stories that someone had called to tell her.
My grandfather was a strict disciplinarian but I knew that he loved us very much and wanted only the best for us. He always thought that sparing the rod would spoil the child and he rarely spared the rod when we deserved it. He used to smoke the pipe, filling the house with the sweet scent of pipe tobacco, something that I could never forget.
He's been gone eight years now and I still miss him. Sometimes I would still wake up, expecting him to be there in the living room having coffee and biscuits. The scent of pipe tobacco would always remind me of my grandad. Always.