Two weeks ago, we took my paternal great-grandfather along on a college visit. It’s not the first time we’ve traveled with him. Over the past decade he’s accompanied us on several family vacations, ones that have a connection to places he once lived or places he himself once visited — like Havre, Montana, the Shiloh National Military Park in Tennessee, and the Minnesota towns of Bemidji and Crookston.

Lest you think we traveled with a man who would be 148 years old today, if he had not died in January 1946, I should clarify: this version of my great-grandfather does not require a cane or a wheelchair, does not order off the Perkins senior menu, and does not require his own airplane seat. He’s not a flesh and blood man.
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