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We called him Pappas.
He was my dad’s dad. A father of 13 children and 30-something grandchildren.
He used to walk every day.
It was a heavy-footed, sometimes labored, stomp. Head down, determined, dedicated. Round and round his indoor pool when the weather was bad, or around the lake when the sun was shining.
And in his hands, he held his “beads.”
His Rosary beads.Continue reading