Granddad

I had the best grandfathers. They both were so proud of me as is, and they opened doors to new skills and confidence in myself. My dad’s dad always quizzed me on geography. I made sure I knew all the continents and oceans just for him. One time I was visiting for a week, and something didn’t seem right to me. I’ve always felt it is was better to say something about a problem because then you might have a chance of fixing it. It’s my persistent habit. My grandfather listened for a while and then said, “Oy vey, kaboobalavitch.” At least that’s what I thought he said. It became a personal swear word though I didn’t know what it meant. Sometime after my grandfather’s death I met someone who spoke Yiddish. My grandfather was apprenticed to a Jewish family in his teen years. When we kids were around he would swear in Yiddish. I asked my new acquaintance if he could translate what my granddad had said. He thought for a moment then laughed. “Oy vey, can my bubele kvetch,” which means, “Boy can my sweetheart complain.”

It’s so true. If I think something is bad, my first step is to complain. I like to think it is only my first step, and that I will keep going until the problem is solved, but I do complain. It’s just how I work.