I will always remember one moment, that defines the character of one of the most important people in my life, more than any other. My grandpa, Mo, has been one of the biggest influences in my life.  He taught me not only about things that were impactful on his life, like sports or how he was raised, but he also tried to help me learn from mistakes he had made so I didn’t make them myself.
Mo is the type of guy that is always putting others before himself. Growing up, Mo’s father passed away when he was a teenager, and Mo was left to be the father figure for his two younger brothers. The fact that he had to mature almost too quickly made him feel like a provider and caretaker for everyone around him. I admire him so much because even if something goes wrong for him, he never looks for sympathy. He seemed to have a way of treating everyone like family, even strangers, and that was something I have never seen in anyone else.
Mo works for a construction company, and he uses his job to do his best to help people in need. I’ve seen him . His company manages the installation of large-scale industrial equipment into plants, and his employees are often put into dangerous places while  working.
One day, when I was in eighth grade, I was watching television like usual after school. The sound effects of Tom and Jerry’s antics faded out of my head as I heard Mo pull into the driveway. The gravel driveway crackled as his silver Honda Pilot rolled to a stop, and the hinges of the heavy, wooden front door creaked as he pushed it open. Mo walked through the door and he seemed heartbroken, walking with his head down, as if he was carrying the weight of a hard day.
“What’s wrong, Mo?” I asked when I noticed his somber demeanor. He breathed deeply.
“Something went wrong at work today,” he responded.
“Diego was helping at Maruchan when a pipe crushed his leg. He’s at the hospital now.
I’m not sure how bad it is, but it doesn’t look good,” he explained.
I could tell by how vague Mo had been, that he was bothered greatly by the accident. I later was given more details about what happened that day by another one of Mo’s employees. Diego Perates, a Mexican immigrant who had worked for Mo for several years, had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Diego was guiding a huge pipe into place as a crane lowered it down. There was some miscommunication between the operator and the ground crew, and the pipe was released by the crane. Diego was standing beside and pipe that had already been set down, when the loose pipe, which weighed about a ton, rolled into his leg. The leg was crushed between both pipes, and essentially flattened. An ambulance was called and Diego was rushed to the hospital where he was being tested when Mo returned home. The biggest fear of the doctors was that an artery in Diego’s leg would be ruptured, causing internal bleeding that couldn’t be stopped, and it would have to be amputated.
“Couldn’t he sue you for tons of money over this?” I asked Mo
“I’m not sure. He probably could, but that isn’t the first time on my mind,” Mo responded in his stressed tone. He almost seemed disappointed that I would think of that.
Despite the fact that M&R could be held accountable and sued, Mo was more concerned about the wellbeing of his employee than anything else. 
Dinner that night was quiet, as Mo, who usually cleans his plate like a street sweeper, barely ate. He seemed to age by ten years, and was visibly stressed. We all went our separate ways to bed, and waited for the sun to come up the next morning.
Susan, my grandmother, complained that he tossed and turned throughout the night, struggling to break his train of thought away from the accident.  Mo went to work a bit later than usual the next day, and when he returned home, he looked like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
“Diego is gonna be okay guys. It’s not as bad as we thought,” the words rushed out of Mo’s mouth as soon as he entered the room. It seemed as if he almost tied a knot in his tongue trying to get the words out.
Mo told Susan and I that he had received word from the hospital and that the injury hadn’t been as bad as it seemed. Diego’s leg  wasn’t broken, and the arteries weren’t damaged, but the cartilage has been crushed and a long rehab process lay ahead.  The news that Diego was going to be okay, brought closure to Mo, and pulled him out of his depressed state.
“I know it’s going to be a long time before Diego is back at work, but I think we can put him on workmen's compensation until then,” Mo told me as he started to see the brighter possibilities of the situation.
I think he still felt guilty, but he would be able to return to business as usual knowing Diego was okay.
Now, almost two years later, I still remember that moment as one that defines my grandfather’s character best. He’s the kind of person who feels a great amount of empathy for those around them. This is a very unique quality, and I know that it makes my grandfather special. Mo has always been there for me, and he always cares for those around him. Even when his influences are small, such as an inherited love for hamburgers, or a love-hate relationship with the Redskins, they mean something. I try to live up to his expectations, and even one-up him at times. But the thing that will mean more to me than beating him in a game of rummy on vacation or making honor roll at school will be when I inherit his morals. One of my biggest goals is to be there for him when I’m grown up, and take care of him the way he took care of me.  He is an inspiration to me, and I hope that one day I can be as much of a genuinely great man as him.