Sunday is Grandparents Day, but Catherine needs no special Hallmark nudge to mark the occasion.
I’ve probably told you this before, but when she was little, the sun rose and set on my father. Grandpa was IT. Didn’t matter who else was there, whether Sam and Tilly (my parents’ dogs) were trying to angle their way in for extra love, whether Barney was on TV (thank GOD I’m done with that phase) or the most colorful toy was in her lap. If Grandpa was on the scene, everything else took second place.
We have, somewhere in the house, terrific home movies of Grandpa chasing a pint-size Catherine through my parents’ house, her giggles and shrieks of joys echoing through the hall.
If Dad hid around a corner, or stopped the game, even for a millisecond, she would immediately start calling for him: “Gampa, w’are you?!” and begin that silly little toddler run from room to room, curls flying, cheeks rosy from the exertion.
If the game ended by being hoisted in the air, upside down over Grandpa’s head, even better!
I don’t need to watch them, though; I can see and hear those visits unfold in my mind’s eye, just as if they happened yesterday.