Father's Day Part 1

I met my family at the Rose Hills cemetery this morning to pay our respects to my late grandfather. It's been over a year since I've gone to visit; I always get lost trying to find his grave. Between the "Lanes of Serenity" and the "Gardens of Tranquility", every twist and turn in those hills just leads you in circles. After following my dad's car around for a couple of wrong turns (he got a little lost himself), we found it, gave my grandpa some flowers, bowed three times, and dusted off his grave marker before heading to lunch.
It's been 13 years and 2 days since he passed away, two days before my high school graduation. I wish he was here. I wish he was still the patriach of this fractured extended family that fell apart with petty feuds immediately after his death. I wish he was still here to retell his stories of fleeing from China during WW2 or lecturing all of us about nutrition and exercise. He was the only grandpa I knew healthier and stronger than all his sons, swimming laps every morning and sending all of his children exercise bikes for Christmas one year.
He was a bodybuilder who always dared the grandkids to punch his arms as hard as we could, yet he was a gardener who tended to the prettiest roses and most delicious orange tree in his backyard. He taught high school chemistry where my mom was one of his favorite students, and ended up running a liquor store in downtown Phoenix, where I had fond memories of eating swirly icecream cups with those wooden stick-like spoons. He liked my mom so much that he was determined to set her up with one of his sons - my dad happened to be home from graduate school and the rest is history.
Our family was the last one to move out to California so we spent the most time with him. Weekly visits were a must, and when he and my grandmother babysat my brother and me, they tried hard to entertain us. I remember one particular visit when my 2 year old brother was fussing for mom, my grandfather decided that taking out his dentures to talk to him would make him laugh. Instead my frightened brother burst into tears and wouldn't stop crying until my parents came to pick us up. Grandpa shrugged and hung out with me while grandma tried to call my brother down.
After moving to California, my brother, my cousin, and I flew back for a couple of summers to spend time with my grandparents, lazing about their pool, watching TV and reading, and playing games. Our favorite part of the summer was at the beginning of the stay - our grandparents would take us to the wholesale market where they used to stock their liquor store, and each of us could have one FULL box of candy bars to ourselves to last our entire visit. Of course, we didn't know how to share and all of us would get the same candy bars - Nestle White Chocolate Crunch.
The rest of my memories of him are fading. I don't remember him ever yelling. I remember he wouldn't let us watch TV during dinner, but would turn on the radio to some kind of easy listening elevator-type music. I remember that he and my dad would settle down for an evening of chinese chess after dinner. They also loved watching basketball games together. I remember he liked to laugh and all my uncles and aunt adored him. Above all, I remember that even though I feared him a little bit as he could be stern, I always knew he was a kind, gentle man whom I would probably like hanging out with and getting some dimsum together if he were still here.