The true definition of success, learned at a 90th birthday party

My grandpa’s name was John Andrew Keenan, and he really loved Mr. Good Bars - the Hershey chocolate bars with halved peanuts mixed in. 

We gave them out as favors at his 90th birthday party. My Aunt D printed new labels so that the yellow wrappers said “Mr. Good Guy” instead. I’ll never look at a Mr. Good Bar without thinking of that. 

I was 17 at his 90th birthday party. I remember driving down to his retirement community in Whiting New Jersey, the car packed to the brim with presents, mylar balloons, birthday cake. All of my aunts and uncles and cousins were in the backyard excited to celebrate him. 

We gathered around to give him his presents - an “Established in 1928” baseball hat, a poster with all of the major events of his birth year, photo albums of the family. He took the hat and put it on backwards when my mom tried to take his picture, throwing up a peace sign and posing for the camera. He held back tears at the poster and family photos.

I think it brought up something for him, maybe about mortality. 90 was no small feat, even for him, who most people thought was much younger. I mean - he learned Dutch at 80, rode his bike every day, and took computer classes so he would never fall out of touch. He always had a trip booked, had a Manhattan every afternoon at 5, and always made people laugh. 

He even used to zip tie laminated posters with jokes too inappropriate for me to repeat here on the tree in front of his house. So much so that the community association repeatedly asked him to take them down. 

But looking at the photos, he started talking about his life, really life in general. He told a story of one of his friends, years ago, asking him if he felt he was a success. He said he didn’t really know what the word even meant, how can you possibly define something like that? So he looked it up in the dictionary. 

He told us, when he saw the definition, he thought “I’m not gonna make the cut.”

And everyone laughed. 

My grandpa never invented anything or held political office or sought out any notoriety. But he was the hardest worker. He loved his family and worked hard to provide for them - He was just a really good guy. 

He told us, “I have a wife, I have children, I have grandchildren. They talk to me, they welcome me into their homes. So he can keep his definition, I’ll keep what I have.”

My grandpa passed three years later, but I still think about his speech a lot. It’s so easy for me to get caught up in what I think makes someone successful - a career, where they live, the degree they have. About a year ago, I told my boyfriend that if I didn’t have the job I wanted by 25 I’d never be a successful journalist. What? That doesn’t even make sense. 

Success is so subjective, who's to say whose opinion is correct?  

The Oxford Dictionary defines success as “the accomplishment of an aim or purpose. The attainment of fame, wealth, or social status.”

John Andrew Keenan defined it to me as who shows up to your 90th birthday party. Oxford can keep their definition, I’ll keep what I have.