It’s a “circle of life” thing.

We were having a family dinner the other night, talking about our days and whatever else. In the middle of everything and a propos of nothing, the 3YO blurted out, to no one in particular: REMEMBER WHEN WE JUST WENT BOWLING? REMEMBER???

He does this from time to time, as three year olds will. This is our third (and last) time around this block, so I’m used to it. But this time, it made me think of my grandfather (God rest his soul).

Pappy was my grandma’s second husband. They were married in the mid 1970s, when I was in elementary school. He had white hair, an infectious laugh, smoked a tobacco pipe (until they found and removed that pesky spot on his lung), and loved gardening. He was also a little bit hard of hearing, a problem that worsened as he aged.

We would visit them often, and whiled away many hours at their kitchen table, playing dominoes or gin rummy. (mmmm, she said gin.) And as we would be in the midst of conversation, Pappy would all of a sudden, and to no one in particular, blurt out whatever random thought was in his head at the time.

“Bananas were 39 cents a pound at the Weis Market, can you believe how expensive?”

“I shot another rabbit in my garden.”

“I went into town to pick up the mail today and ran into Irene Little.”

Perhaps this was his way of changing the conversation. Maybe he was feeling left out, since he wasn’t hearing what the rest of us were saying. But you’d have to stop in the middle of a sentence, look at him, and reply with “oh, really? wow!” or, “what was he trying to eat?” or, “I haven’t seen Miss Little in so long, does she still have the player piano?” And then, satisfied, we would return to the game and the previous conversation. Until his next interruption.

Unless it was getting late in the evening. Another favorite Pappy-ism was that at 10pm sharp, he would jump up from the table and announce, “it’s time for my Metamucil!” Which he would promptly mix in the same little juice glass and drink. This was also a good excuse for him to eat one of my grandma’s delicious Amish-style sugar cookies. And when he ate one, we all would eat one.

One day, my son will outgrow the need to interrupt us. He will learn to wait his turn and say excuse me first. But perhaps one day, when he is in his 80s, he will grow back into it. He’ll be sitting there at the table, playing cards with his own grandkids, and he will be interrupting the heck out of them. And they will politely tolerate it, because he’s grandpa after all, and he should be shown the respect that’s due any man, especially an octogenarian. And afterwards, they will giggle about the crazy things he says.

But when he’s gone? They will really, really miss him.