Growing up I always thought my grandparents were invincible. They were super-cool, super-funny, super-loving and, in my opinion, superheroes.

My grandparents could run around with me all afternoon, play board games until bedtime and read me books until dawn – all with as much energy and enthusiasm as a new puppy.

They each demonstrated immeasurable amounts of patience, kindness and unconditional love. My grandparents were super-human because they seemed to be good at everything.

My Grandpa Cork was always in the kitchen. Whether whipping up one of his famous Jell-O molds or carving the Thanksgiving turkey, I loved watching him work. I had never seen someone exude so much passion and precision into something so.insignificant.

But I quickly learned that in my family, food was everything. It brought us together. We would all gather around the large dinner table and tell jokes. I always loved hearing funny stories about my dad’s childhood.

But dinner wasn’t just about eating food, it was about savoring it- appreciating all the unique flavors and work that was put into the dish. Eating a meal was just as important as the preparation that went into it.

Grandma Barb was the one who would spoil me the most. While Grandpa Cork would stay at home washing dishes, we would sneak out and go to the library. She would let me get as many books as I wanted, which meant taking home the entire children’s section.

After spending some time picking out books, we would grab a movie. Then came my favorite part: we would make a pit stop on our way home for some candy or ice cream.

My grandmother had quite the sweet tooth. As I got older I learned that she had a “treat drawer” full of candy, which I oftentimes raided when the grown-ups weren’t looking. Each time we brought ice cream home she would look for peppermint, her favorite flavor. She liked the kind with the crushed candies in it, not the artificially flavored variety.

I always thought she was the best grandma ever because she would let me have whatever kind of ice cream I wanted!

My mother’s father, Grandpa Les, has always been a workhorse. Every time we go down to visit him it seems there is always a new project underway. He has always been interested in property investment, and is one of the smartest businessmen I know.

He is the “jack of all trades,” and I admired him for his many talents. I was in awe of his ability to transform a mediocre house into a beautiful home. Although he may have thought I was a wimp when I was young (and believe me, no one could complain as much as I could), I loved helping out with his many projects. I would help plant flowers and pull weeds, all the while looking over my shoulder to see if I was impressing Grandpa Les.

And after all the hard work – well, mostly grandpa’s hard work – we would sit outside on the screened-in porch with a cold soda and a Werther’s Original caramel and evaluate our work. And while we didn’t talk much, the look on Grandpa Les’ face said enough. For a man of few words, his facial expressions spoke novels.

I guess I always thought my grandparents would be this way — bursting with energy, full of spirit and overflowing with passion.

But maybe that is because I never really thought of my grandparents as old.

There was just something about them that made them seem like real-life superheroes.

Maybe it was the odd way they always knew when I was upset, and whipped up a batch of my favorite cookies to put a smile on my face.

Maybe it was the way they knew that reading aloud from one of my favorite books would calm me down during a thunderstorm.

Or maybe it was in the look of approval that they flashed me when I made them dinner, letting me know without saying a word that I do make them proud.

Grandparents make life magical and exciting. And although they may change with age, the wonderful memories I have of them will always be imprinted in my mind.

While their super-powers may not be documented in comic books or made into

blockbuster movies, as with all superheroes, their story doesn’t end when they’re gone.