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Remembering

Twenty-two years ago this month, my Grandfather died. I called him Grandpa, he also went by “Fishy,” a Yiddish nickname. My Grandpa loved me fiercely and gently, and modeled it was okay for men to cry, at Greeting Cards.

When I was young, our family had a Sunday tradition, my Grandparents would come over Sunday afternoons for a visit and dinner out. Back in those days, Bill Knapps was around and a great restaurant for all of our tastes. The hearty meals, green server aprons and birthday discount equal to your new age.


Grandpa and I had our own tradition at these dinners. After finishing our main course, one of us would ask, “Do you want to split a piece of chocolate cake?” We both knew the answer from the other would always be yes, the only real question was, do we add vanilla ice cream too? This was our thing.



I celebrate our tradition. I remember our thing, and my Grandpa. Now I’ll eat your half too, Grandpa.

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