Here is another old photo. This is my mom's father, my grandfather. Photographic evidence that he liked motorcycles too. He was a policeman - garda in Ireland - so maybe this was a police bike.
Here is what I remember about him: He drove a green car. He was tall and quiet and kind, with big hands that trembled when he poured tea from their dented tin teapot. He smoked a pipe, carving the tobacco from a block of solid stuff he kept on a breadboard in the pantry, along with a short blackened knife he had specifically for the purpose.
He played golf with my grandmother, and once I ran after the ball he hit and brought it back to him. I didn't know why they both got so mad at me.
I asked him what a cannibal was, and he said "someone who eats people," which drove me wild with curiosity, but he wouldn't go into further detail.
I was 18 when he died. I ended up with his big leather wallet, which I used for years - until my purse was stolen from a pub in Dublin in 1989.