When I was a kid, my two siblings and I would take turns staying with my Granny and Grandaddy in Waycross, GA, for a week at a time during summer vacation. We saw them often throughout the year, but we always looked forward to that special week of one-on-one time with them, because they spoiled us with love, not gifts. Both were very special to me, but especially my Grandaddy, whom I was named after.

He became blind around 20 years of age, yet his blindness never slowed him down. He served as a county commissioner for Ware County for several years, worked the concession stand at the courthouse, cooked lunch, and washed dishes while my Granny worked. As a boy, between the ages of 6 and 14, I would watch him closely, studying how he moved around the house from room to room as if he could see. I was impressed by how seamlessly he transitioned from cooking to washing the dishes, never missing a beat.

At the concession stand, customers would give him money, and he would return the correct change and provide them exactly what they ordered. When things were slow, he would clasp his hands together and twiddle his thumbs, which I found fascinating. He had many friends who visited the concession stand just to talk to him, and I enjoyed helping out, feeling grown-up as I handed customers their drinks and snacks.

It seemed like every time I stayed with them, in the evening we would visit someone who was sick or attend a viewing for someone who had passed away. Despite his blindness, my Grandaddy never let it slow him down or stop him from working and caring for others. His love for people was boundless. During those weeks, he taught me many lessons that still resonate with me today. I often think about him and sometimes catch myself when I am pondering at the beach, clasping my hands together and twiddling my thumbs, which instantly takes me back to those days and reminds me of how special he was. I'm grateful for the time I spent with him. To this day, I dislike hearing someone say, "I can't do that," because I knew a blind man who never uttered those words.