Though mon pépé (my grandfather) is legally Rosario Ouellette, he has always gone by Rosey. (His name came from an uncle who passed during WWII. We don't know how a Frenchman got the Italian form instead of "Rosaire" 🤷)
You see, he struggled with spelling as a kid (probably related to speaking mostly Québécois French at home but English in school). He had such a hard time with it, he struggled even to spell his own name! So instead, he always wrote the simpler "Rosey" and it stuck.
Rosey studied Carpentry and spent several years building houses in and around his hometown. But he spent the longest time working for the local paper mill, first doing very unpleasant cleaning jobs but ultimately working his way up to Engineering and Drafting. He figures he worked just about every job there during his career, and his wide knowledge base reflects that.
When I was a kid he taught me a lot in his basement workshop - Rosey's workshop - and even more outside of it. He showed me how to fix lots of things around my grandparents' house, and he encouraged me to learn how things work so I could fix them too. I probably owe much of my sense of humor to him, as well as my enjoyment of long-distance running and puzzles.
One of the most important things I learned from him though has nothing to do with either tools or pastimes. People would sometimes ask "isn't Rosey a girl's name?" and at least by the time I was around - by the time Rosey was a grandfather - his response always started with a shrug. "Well, I don't know; it's my name" he might say. In this and many other ways, I've always seen him as a very mild-mannered gentle man. I don't know how different he is today from how he was in his youth, or what offense he might have taken then from comparisons to the feminine, but I do know that he set for me an example of softness and playfulness that contrasted greatly with many of the other notions of "what men are supposed to be" that I internalized growing up.