Remembering Pap Croyle

My grandfather passed away this morning at 93. His health had been declining for a few years, but watching him slowly deteriorate was still incredibly hard. Losing family is never easy, and it feels like a huge part of my childhood is suddenly gone.

For the first 18 years of my life, I lived right beside Pap Croyle. I saw him almost every day. I was at their house constantly. He took me hunting and fishing, played catch with me, shot hoops, went golfing, and taught me countless little things. And I can say without a doubt that one of the traits I inherited from him and Dad is…stubbornness.

I want to share a few stories.

One of the first “little things” Pap taught me was how to say the alphabet backwards. I was probably 7 or 8, and he was outside doing yardwork for Gram. He asked if I wanted to learn, and of course I said yes. Then he started:

Pap: Repeat after me — Z‑Y‑X Me: Z‑Y‑X Pap: Good. Again. Me: Z‑Y‑X Pap: Now W‑V Me: W‑V Pap: Put them together. Me: Z‑Y‑X‑W‑V Pap: U‑T‑S Me: U‑T‑S Pap: All together now. Me: Z‑Y‑X‑W‑V‑U‑T‑S Pap: Again. Me: Z‑Y‑X‑W‑V‑U‑T‑S Pap: Again.

And he kept going like that the entire time we worked. He’d give me a section, make me repeat it, then make me recite the whole thing back; and the longer it got, the more times he had me say it. Eventually you realize it’s almost like a little poem:

ZYX
WV
UTS
RQP
ONM
LKJ
IHG
FED
CBA

I’ve never forgotten it. I’ve tried to teach the kids, but they just laugh when I make them repeat it. It’s one of those weird skills I have. I can say it faster than many people can say the alphabet normal…and I have Pap to thank for that.

He also taught me how family connections work. If you’ve ever said something like “that person is my second cousin” and I’ve jumped in with “nope, first cousin once removed,” you can thank Pap for that too.

Some of my favorite memories are from when we started golfing. I was around 16, and on Sunday mornings we’d head over to Appledale in Ebensburg. We’d go super early, pay about $18, and golf all day. We’d try to get in 36 holes, and a few times we actually managed 54.

But one of the best memories was a day after school. I asked Pap if he wanted to go to Greenwood and play nine at the little par‑3 course. As we were driving down the mountain on Rt. 350, my car started overheating. It took us four hours to get home because we had to keep stopping to let the engine cool. This was before cell phones (and we were in the middle of nowhere) so we just had to hope for the best. Good thing he was there, because 16‑year‑old me probably would’ve either blown up the engine or abandoned the car and walked home.

One last story: a Pap and Dad combo. We used to go salmon fishing in New York. We’d stay at Oak Orchard, wake up early, and take a small boat upriver. Dad liked to enjoy an adult beverage now and then, and Pap didn’t, nor was he a fan of Dad doing it. One morning, Dad was about to load the coolers into the boat — one with lunch and sodas, the other with a few beers. Pap said, “Why don’t you run up to the convenience store and get us coffee? I’ll load the coolers while you’re gone.” Dad agreed and headed off.

Later that day, after catching a ton of salmon, Dad went to grab a beer. He opened the cooler and found bananas and oranges. Pap just said, “Oh, you don’t need any beer.” Dad was pissed. But then a big boat came by, some guys he knew from years before, and they hadn’t caught anything. Dad showed them all the salmon we had, saw they were drinking beer, and asked if they wanted to trade a few salmon for a six‑pack. They agreed. Pap just rolled his eyes.

I will miss him deeply. But I’m grateful for a lifetime of memories: the big ones, the small ones, and all the ones that shaped who I am.