I am wearing a very short and very frothy bubble-gum pink dress with matching panties. I am watching my reflection on our old black and white television set as I twirl, twirl, twirl.

My mother has been cooking all day. Something important is going on as I am not allowed to run around outside. I am not to touch all the pretty things on our dining room table.

I am bored. Tired. Cranky.

My father comes to the rescue. He brings out a shiny new red car. Scared, I cling to my father’s legs and cry. I want to play horsey. My father places me in the pedal car. I can pedal, fast. All over the place.

When my grandfather finally arrives and we are introduced, he kisses me on the forehead.

Then I am up, up, up in the air as his lifts me way above his head. We are laughing. I feel so happy, so light; I can almost touch the ceiling.

Papou died when I turned three, soon after our first meeting.