Writing Challenge-- it's on?!

I'm sore afraid...and a little excited. The Daily Post's Writing Challenge for this week is "roots." Funny thing. I called my dad the other day. I asked him about his grandfather, Pedro Landin. We called him Gramps. He was born in Mexico and left that country for this one. Since he was a man of very few words, so I hear, we know that he probably walked to Colorado from Mexico. Somebody in the family asked him why he left. He said with typical brevity, "Nothing to eat."
Back in what I ironically think were simpler times, "tramps" would come to Gramps's house asking for food. Grandma made them pinto bean sandwiches, but she didn't much like doing it. Gramps told her if it wasn't for the tramps when he was walking from Mexico to Colorado sharing their food with him, he wouldn't have made it.
When World War I came around, Gramps thought since he was living in the U.S., he should join the military and do his part. His time in the military earned him citizenship.
I knew him when he was in his eighties. I was pretty young then. Gramps would show Dad the vegetables growing in his garden. The garden took up most of his yard. I remember him playing his guitar and singing in Spanish in his tiny living room. He made the best homemade tortillas and the hottest green chile! When it was time to leave, Gramps would give my sister and me a silver dollar from the kitchen hutch and a warm tortilla with butter and salt.
His house was between a street and the railroad yard, he owned his home, was a citizen of the United States, had a pension, and had plenty to eat. I remember him as a kind, gentle man.