Remembering my Grandpa

On Friday, September 26th, just as I was clocking out, I got an email that my father's father passed away. He had just turned 90 earlier that week, and had passed peacefully in his sleep. His mind was sharp until the end.

My Grandpa, Ben Kantack

I live far away from my extended family so I hadn't seen him in many years, but I have many fond childhood memories. I had an obsession with bugs as a kid, which I probably inherited from him; my grandfather was an entomologist. Once, we had some beetles that started showing up on the maple tree behind our house, and the photos I'd taken with my little 35mm camera (remember those?) weren't enough for him to ID them, so we smuggled one of the beetles in our luggage when we flew to visit that year (the TSA was much laxer then). He identified it as an Asian Longhorn Beetle.

My grandpa had an ornery sense of humor, loved insects and nature, and loved wine, all traits I inherited from him. He also loved hunting. When I was seven(ish?), he took me pheasant hunting. He shot the bird, and I cried. Hunting was a trait I definitely did not inherit. Grandpa made up for it by always sending us home with meat from hunting trips. As a small kid, we had an entire freezer seemingly perpetually full of food he had sent home with us.

He was a very generous man and he lived a rich life. He made it into the South Dakota Hall of Fame due to his professional accomplishments. He had a huge family (seven kids and please-don't-make-me-count-them-all grandchildren) and countless friends. He lived a life to be celebrated. We should all be so lucky in our own lives to leave that legacy.