“There’s this book 1776 by David Mcullough,” my grandpa was telling me. “You really should read it. I would give you my copy, but I already gave it to my sister. She ain’t gonna read it though. She’s a meathead. That’s what we used to call her, meathead.”

My mom chimed in, “Well, then what did they used to call you, Dad?”

“Bobby. They would call me Bobby.” We all laughed. My grandpa’s name is Bob.

“Anyways,” Grandpa would always say this word to continue his story. “Anyways, she was a flower child.”

“She brought this one guy to Thanksgiving one year. He was wearing a military jacket down to his ankles and a beard down to his belt. He wouldn’t eat the turkey. He said he was vegetarian. But he was putting gravy on his potatoes. So I said, then don’t eat any of that gravy either. That’s got turkey in it too.”

“She dated another guy who drove an eighteen-wheeler. He would park it outside the house. One day, I think he even drove the kids to school in it.”

“She was so far to the left she was going to fall off the earth.”