In this you're Pete and Roger's granddaughter...

"Hi, Gramps." Your grandfather was sitting on the sofa, his head in his tattered photos albums. His glasses were balancing on the bridge of his nose.

"Good morning, Y/N," he smiled, warmly looking up at you. "C'mere, I got to show you something." You obeyed, sitting down next to him, smiling at the old black and white photos.

"Do you know who he is?" Your grandfather asked. "That's Keith Moon. He was a old friend and the Who's drummer. And that's John Entwistle holding you as a baby. He sang Boris. Keith once drove his car in a swimming pool, blew up his drums on the Smother Brothers' Show and put cherry bombs down the toilet, every hotel we went to." He smiled, then a frown creeped onto his thin lips. "Now, they've gone. You would've like both of them."

"How did he die, Pop?" 

His blue spectacled eyes started to become watery. "I don't want to talk about it. Now you're mummy's gone, and your dad won't even talk to me, all I have is you and Grandpa Pete."

"Can we invite grandpa Pete over?" You asked.

"No, not right now, lovey. How about we have some ice cream for breakfast and watch cartoons?" He wrapped his arms around you, and held you tightly.

"Yay!! I love you, Grandpa."

"I love you too, Y/N/N."

Well, that might have made me cry. I'm an emotional teenager. So yesterday, I went to a birthday party and the song These Boots Are Made For Walking by Nancy Sinatra came on. All the girls/women in the room in the room started to sing it with men around. My family/friends are awesome.