I Remember Papa Altha
My memories of Papa seem to focus on the period when he and Fred lived with us. I remember his as a proud man who always splashed his face with a sweet fragrance of after shave lotion as he redied himself for church each Sunday.

I remember Papa when I think of riding with Dad as he took Papa to what seemed like a "long-long" trip (this was before the lodge freeway) to the east side of Detroit where Papa would visit cousins.

I remember Papa as I think of his love of buttermilk which he drank with each meal. I had a dislike for buttermilk then, especially when Barbara & I did the dishes and it my turn to "wash" and Barabara's turn to "wipe" - she would keep returning the "buttermilk glass" to me because buttermilk just wasn't easy to remove.

I remember Papa carefully peeling a juicy sweet peach and sharing a slice with me as we sat on the porch. Intrigued with Papa's hearing aide, I remember how he place the instrument into my ear and asked "can you hear Papa?" I remember saying "yes", when actually I only heard static. I remember the fun of playing checkers with Papa at the end of the dining room table.

Most of all, however, I remember and think of Papa as I see my Dad. I see identical mannerisms, physical similarities and familiar expressions of pleasure as he, like Papa, encuorages family closeness, family love and importance of keeping family ties alive.... without speaking a word.