My British grandfather died tonight from complications after a stroke.  He was 79.

When I was 15, I dropped out of high school and enrolled in a British college.  It was only then that I got to know him.  Apparently he was pretty conservative with my mom, but I think he was able to be more liberal with me, seeing me as a wild little American.  We would take walks in the gardens and talk about religion, politics, and other things you’re not supposed to talk about in Britain.  I remember saying, “Art is the only true form of therapy,” and him just laughing and saying, “Sam, you drop these bombshells.”

At a time when clinical depression had trounced my sense of self-worth, he made me feel like an intellectual.  He made me feel - like every teenager longs to feel - like an adult.