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Grumpy ... um ... Grampy

Today, daughter Alissa and I went to see Sammy at Menorah Manor.

As we headed toward the elevator, Sammy wheeled around the corner clutching his box of kleenex.

"Who's that?"

"It's me, Grampy ... Alissa."

"Oh ... you're the granddaughter who doesn't have a child."

He laughed and gave her his trademark wet kiss. "I'm so glad you are here. Come over and sit with me for a while. Do you want a Klondike bar?"

"No thanks ... do you want one?"

"Only if you do."

One of the residents came up to Sammy and told him hello. He introduced us. "Sally, this is my son and this is my granddaughter ... the one who doesn't have a child."

"Dad ... I don't think you should say ..."

Sammy interrupted, "Alissa, you do a lot of typing at work?"

Alissa answered, "Well I do use the computer a lot ...."

"I know how to type. I took typing in California a...s...d...f..."

"Um ... so Dad ... what have you done lately?"

"I played poker this morning."

"Did you win?"

"How the hell should I know? I can't count or see or hear any more. Neither can the rest of the guys. They just sit there."

We talked for a while about food and illness and interesting people Sammy knows. When we were about to leave Alissa said she would write him.

"Good, good honey. You know I get all your letters."

"Why don't you write me back Grampy."

"I'm never gonna write you back."

Silence.

"But I'll call you. Do you have the same telephone?"

That Sammy ... can't live with him and ... can't live with him.

Happy Holidays


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