PaPa. My maternal grandfather. We were on one of our rambles when “Prop Me Up Beside The Jukebox When I Die” came on the radio. He laughed and said, “I want this song played at my funeral.”
Well, PaPa, I wasn’t allowed in on the planning of your funeral, since I’m the black sheep of the family, but every time I hear it, I smile and think of you. I’m writing about our escapades, PaPa. I’ll see you all again. Until then, tell me bout the good ole days.