A few weeks ago, my daughter Anna had a birthday party at her home. Anna has five children. They range in age from one-year-old to nine years old. After the party was over, I walked into Anna’s kitchen to say goodbye to her. When I entered the kitchen, I heard her two-year-old son Peter ask, “Mom, can I wear my vestment?” Anna replied, “Yes, I’ll get it for you in a few minutes.”
My wife and I have 10 grandchildren — six boys and four girls. My daughter Maria is expecting a new baby in January, so that will bring the total to 11. Three of our grandsons were born last year during the month of November. Since they’re all crawling now, I recently proposed to the family that we schedule a crawling contest. My plan is for all of us to meet on a Sunday afternoon at my brother-in-law’s business, Body Fitness.
Earlier this month, I had a conversation with a judge who recently retired after serving as a state court judge for more than 20 years. For the purpose of this article, I’m going to call him “John.” John is in his early 60s, and during our conversation he asked me how many grandchildren I have. I told him that after adding three new grandsons last month, my wife and I have 10 grandchildren.
Recently my daughter Maria purchased a write-it-yourself children’s book for her four-year-old daughter, Grace. The book came with some stickers of characters you would see in an animated movie about a castle and a royal family. The characters included a king, queen, princess, wizard, town jester, and prince in shining armor.
I was born on the same day that my grandfather, Harry LaHood, was buried. My grandfather died on May 17, 1957. My mom and dad attended his funeral Mass on May 20, and then went to the cemetery for the burial service. Mom’s contractions had started earlier in the day and became more intense while she and Dad were at the cemetery. After the burial service was finished, Mom told Dad that she needed to go to the hospital. I was born later that day, and Mom gave me the same name as her father.