On Grampa

My dad used to postulate that perhaps some things skipped a generation. Of course, he was at least two generations older than me, nearly 43 years old when I was born, so I would always get confused just trying to do the math. But then, generation gaps were always a point of great confusion for the greater Moore collective. Some of us are older than our own uncles or second cousins. Some of us have more years apart from our siblings than from our parents.

Dad and his own dad–Grampa–meanwhile, were so close in age that, story goes, Nana used to joke that they were basically growing up together. It was such a stark contrast to my own situation that I don’t think I could really comprehend the nature of their relationship.

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