Papa

I was singing the "Inty Minty, Tibity Fig" song my dad taught me as a child (used to tap closed fists in order to find out who is 'it' for a game) to Joey one day.  He kept laughing and telling me to sing it again and again.

Well, why don't you learn? I asked.

"I don't want to"

Well, you have to so you can teach your kids too.  See, your Papa taught it to me when I was a little girl, then I taught it to you when you are a little boy.  So now you have to teach your little kid when you have one.  So you have to practice with me okay?

"No." and he stops talking completely and looks away with his arms over his face again.  (He does this when he can't deal with 'outside' things, as a comfort of sorts.)

I wait a while, then ask if he is ready to talk with me again, and what did I say that made him upset?

He looks at me mean, but I can tell his eyes are watering when he yells,

"YOU MADE ME MISS GRANDPA!!" and he drops his head on my stomach and cries.

Whodathought? Heartache.  Ugh.