Last Sunday I went out with my dad’s dad. I call him Bumpa because for a two-year-old it’s much easier to pronounce than “Grandpa.” Important facts about Bumpa are that he was born in Poland, and he hates butter.
I saw him walking out of the camp office and was overjoyed. I hugged him and showed him around a little, then we left. After a little bit of searching, we finally settled on the first restaurant we had seen.
We sat and ate pancakes and talked about our family’s history. Turns out I have some distant cousins in Buenos Aires, and that Bumpa’s parents were orthodox Jews. He told me he went to a Hebrew day school and wore a suit with a black hat until he was 11. After lunch he bought me some maple candy and we drove back to camp.
It’s weird how uneventful days can make me so happy. ♦