I do not remember the year, but I'd guess it was around 1977 on Christmas Day. My Grammie gave me the Wiley Coyote, and my brother 
The Wiley Coyote was my prized possession and went everywhere with me other than to school. I still remember taking him to bed with me, and that's probably how Wiley disappeared without a trace. At the time I was a very bad bed wetter, so I bet poor ole' Wiley skunk like Pepé Le Pew after only a short while.
My parents probably made him disappear as parents sometimes do with certain children's toys that become problematic. If you're a parent, you will know what I mean. I'm sure it was for the best, and I know my parents meant well. As you can see from the photo above, I was genuinely happy with the gift. Grammie always gave the best ones.
I loved her very much. She was a wonderful and giving person, and everyone in the family was fortunate to have her in their lives. Thinking about her reminds me of so many positive things in life, but one negative one also comes to mind. Please heed this humble wisdom:
When someone you love is ill, make sure you see them before they get too ill.
Make peace with them, and talk to them while they're still with you mentally. When I saw my Grammie last, she couldn't even recognize me. It was too late to even say goodbye to her in a proper way. The cancer and all the drugs she was on because of it had ruined her state of mind. It was heart breaking and a bad way to end things.
On a happier note, above is a photo of her with my grandfather, Lowell Cornelison. Notice how genuine her smile was like mine with Wiley. She was in the prime of her life, in love, and my grandfather was a great man. The two of them would get married and have a child named Georgia Ann, my mother.
It wasn't long after having my mother as a child that WWII began. My grandfather signed up for the Army, and he was assigned to the 29th Infantry Division--a unit I would later be a member of as well. This is a photo of him in uniform right before he shipped off to Europe to participate in D-Day.
Lowell survived the D-Day battle, but he did not survive the war. After landing on and securing the beach, his unit was ordered inland. While fighting in the forest of France, he was wounded in the arm. An ambulance eventually arrived to take him and others to a field hospital. As the ambulance drove off into the night though, it was struck by an artillery shell.
Everyone inside the vehicle was killed instantly.
My grandfather fought and died fighting fascists, and for that he will always have my deepest respect. He was only 21 years old. That is the main reason I took his surname, Cornelison, since his only surviving child was my mother. I am one of seven children too, so there are others who have carried on the Koester surname.
Now you know why I share my mother's maiden name. You also know how seriously I take the fight for liberty. My mother used to tell me I have always been very "serious." My friends say the same. I don't think I'm too serious, but I do often contemplate serious and important ideas.
Liberty, and how to further it, is my primary passion in life. Everything I do is meant to improve individual liberty. It is a battle worth fighting, and I'll gladly pay any price to win it. I call people like me Liberty Professionals, and they are all my friends. Let me know if you're one too.
It's always a pleasure to meet another friend!
Here's one last photo to lighten up the mood. Do I look serious within it? Nope. I don't believe I do!
Thanks to 
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