Papa

My grandad is the coolest man alive.  He has this voice that sounds as deep as thunder but can calm babies and toddlers in an instant.  He also has just about the best West Virginian accent of anyone you’ll ever meet, his most famous saying in our house being “Hey babe” in which the word “babe” is about three seconds long and contains at least two syllables. 

He grew up in the mountains of West Virginia… literally, out in the sticks.  And he’s always telling us stories about how he and his brothers used to get into trouble all the time.  When they weren’t getting in trouble, they were making up things to do, and being as they were out in the sticks, they had to make up their own fun. His most recent adventure-telling included a game called “tree tag” which is literally kids climbing from tree to tree like squirrels until one of them catches the other, and apparently, if you fell out or hit the ground in any way, you were automatically it.  As he talked about “tree tag” he never seemed to mention the fact that it is completely and totally dangerous and could potentially result in death, if not at the very least a massive brain injury.

Papa: “When I was growing up, we used to play tree tag.”

Me: “How do you play tag in a tree?”

Papa: “Very carefully.”