My dad was really proud of how little he gave my siblings and I when we headed off to college. "All I got was a carton of cigarettes and 50 bucks," he'd chuckle, "and I made it!" I rolled my eyes at that talk, but it was what it was, and I got by pretty fine on my own with the help of a work study job, cash from my mom, and a yearly scholarship from my grandpa's American Legion branch. A member had donated a car to the group when he died, and my Uncle Joe got the horns that had been affixed to the grill, and the cash in the trunk went to descendants of members. I got a check made out directly to me every year, $1,000 that wasn't earmarked for anything in particular and could actually be used to pay for what I needed to pay for: subway tokens, grilled cheese sandwiches at the diner, tampons, and the occasional night out dancing. That cash was a lifesaver, all thanks to my dad's dad, who allegedly gave him nothing.