Personal

When I was twelve years old my parents signed my brother and I up for a week of summer camp at the Dedham Racquet Club. It was hot and boring and the only reason we didn't complain is because at the end of the day we got to go on the waterslide. One day it was pouring rain, so the counselors brought us inside to watch movies and mess around on the racquet ball courts. It was there that I received some kid's backhand swing directly to the face and busted my lip wide open. This was before cell phones, so when my mother didn't answer at work they called the only other phone number I had memorized, my grandfather's. Papa arrived, and we somehow ended up at a plastic surgeon's office in Wellesley where I received five stitches in my upper lip. Now I was a sensitive child under the best of circumstances, so understand that I was a sobbing mess through the entire ordeal. My grandfather handled it all with the same good humor and kindness he handled all interactions with his grandchildren, and even managed to find a Brigham's right near the doctor's office and bought me a cone on our way home. He passed away today, after a long and awful illness. RIP Papa, love you.