Long before our daughter presented us with glorious microscopic Sammy,our first grandchild, she was peppering me with what moniker I prefer for this new role in relation to her future child. I confess: I resented the inquiry in no small section because the available titles”bubbe, and ” “zayde,” and even the milquetoast“grandpa” (and its generic variations)—didn’t at all fit. What did, I could not say. Eventually, and the conversation petered out; where we left it was that Sammy would call me what he would,when words came to the microscopic lad.
If he looks at me with his deep, hazel eyes, and one day soon mutters “Grolpudng,” then Grolpudng I will be.
Continue reading "Don't Call Me Zayde: Confessions of a Reluctant Grandfather" at...
Source: feedburner.com