It was a Daddy Daughter Dance. Unfortunately for my son, he had to work out of town. Fortunately for me, I was the second-string back up for Grace, who is 6 years old, and in first grade.
The school dance was for elementary girls, grades one through six, at our local university Grand Ballroom. My only concern was that it was from 6 to 9 PM. Having two left feet and the coordination of a one-legged giraffe, how in the world could I fake dancing that long?! In the end, it didn’t matter.
What did matter was that my granddaughter had a good time. She was dressed in a light blue dress covered with tulle. (For the ladies, aren’t you impressed I know what “tulle” is, and for us guys, it’s said “tool”, but not spelled that way, so it’s not a skirt covered in crescent wrenches like I thought.)
When my first grandchild was born, I found it interesting how you can love a newborn so much. Throughout his life, we’ll share DNA, and the same last name.
He’ll carry our family name down the generational rivers entering a sea of names. Maybe it’s just a man thing, but that’s downright satisfying!
I looked back at a flash drive of old family pictures that included a scan of an article my grandfather wrote in 1974. My Grandpa is my grandson’s Great, Great Grandfather.
He only had a 6th grade education, so to write a life summary and family history is phenomenal! It was exhilarating to read! Continue reading Age to Age→
Stories about family, faith, friends and funnies. Pull up a chair. Grab a cup of coffee and laugh, cry, ponder and inspire about ordinary events of this wonderful, ever changing, bubbling pot that we call "every day life".
RabBits 