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My Red Sox Guy


Yesterday while I was reading the newspaper, my husband asked, “Will you take a picture of me in my Red Sox outfit?”

“I didn’t know you had one.” I’d never seen Jonathan in his Red Sox outfit. At home or out.

Growing up in Newton, MA not far from his grandparents, he was close to his grandfather, who took him to Red Sox games. He also took him to work--he started and built a successful business—on errands, fishing, and for ice cream in the middle of the day during summers at the beach, often driving on hilly roads because the car rides were fun. They played gin rummy. Poppi had card sense and usually won.

He called his 5 children almost every night.

Jonathan speaks lovingly of experiences with his grandfather, their connection, and who he was: warm, generous, and smart.

My grandfathers died long before I was born. I wonder what they were like and what we might have had. I know about them from what my parents told me and from pictures.

All over our apartment are pictures of my family and Jonathan’s. We have one long wall of groupings and collages with every member. Five generations from our grandparents to our grandkids. I love to look at them. I smile at them. Think about them all.

Past. Present. Future. All mensches. Our team. Our clan.

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