When I think about people whose career choices have had a major impact on my life, I tend to focus on my parents – after all, they were the ones who raised me. They were the adults I watched going to and from work my whole life. My mother the professor, and my father the teacher – that is how they have been for most of my life. But as I’ve been contemplating the idea of graduate school and toying with the idea of going on to be a professor myself, it never really occurred to me how much my own examples of my parents may mirror the example that my own father grew up with.

My grandmother, when she was not too busy raising five boys, volunteering with her church, or going on hikes, also worked as an elementary school librarian. My grandfather – or “granddad” as I preferred to call him when I was little – was a professor at the University of Virginia, and was even chair of the Humanities Department in the Engineering School for several years before he retired. My earliest memories of them are from after they were both retired, but I remember them as having a great love of books. There’s a story about my grandmother leaving the dinner table one night to use the restroom only to reappear once dinner was long over because she started reading and got sucked into the book. Librarian, professor – these are career choices I’ve been considering for my own life, without even thinking about the fact that, in some ways, they’re in my blood. So while I already wrote a post about all of the teachers in my life who passed on to me a love of the written word, this time I would like specifically to give thanks for my father’s parents. Realizing (and reminding myself of) the paths that their lives took them on has helped me feel a little bit more like I am on the right path for myself. While I’m still not certain if I do want to go on and become a professor, at least I know that I can carry on a family tradition, if I so choose.

The Friday before I returned to campus this semester, my granddad passed away. It was one month past the 64^th anniversary of his wedding to my grandma, who died in March of 2008, when I was a sophomore in high school. At the closing fire circle of my first session working as a camp counselor, I stood up and said that I’d always had a lot of respect for my grandmother because despite being the only woman in the house she had somehow managed to raise five boys into five amazing men. Working with the kids at camp, I’d realized that little boys weren’t quite so terrible as I’d thought, but I was still impressed. I think my grandparents were always kind of magical to me, which might just be how grandparents are, but either way, I wish mine could see me now. I think they’d be happy that I’m considering becoming a professor or a librarian. I think they would be proud.