“Now, let's get back into it. When my brother was in the army, he was over in Germany, and he tells me that my mother sent him a care package. She never sent me shit,” he huffs and pauses to collect himself, “never.”

“How would you feel?” He chuckles through his disappointment. I guess this was a rhetorical question because he doesn’t let me answer.

“Later on I knew who were the right people for me. Like your Grandma Babe”

“How old were you when you met GG?” I ask.

GG stands for Great Grandma. Her nickname was Babe because she was the youngest in her giant family. They took Papa in when his parents didn’t want him. Her real name was Florence. How funny is that? Lawrence and Florence.

“I was fifteen, and she was fourteen. We ran around together, and I got to know her friends and her family very well. They were my family. They took me in. I played with their kids. I use to swing them up and down. And I enjoyed being in their homes, and they enjoyed having me. I never had that before. Not at mine. Never at mine. There was nothing to enjoy. Nothing was going on except fighting between my mother and father. But, anyway…” I’ve come to conclude that Anyway is his favorite word.

“At eleven years old my father made me a pair of burgundy slacks with a wide band at the waist. He put three mother of pearl buttons on it, and he took me to a restaurant. I sang there, and I think the first night I, made two dollars in change. Which was a lot of money then. My grandfather used to work for two dollars and seventy cents a week in a brass factory. That’s just the way things were.

He takes a break to catch his breath and embrace Jovi licking his fingers, panting on his lap and begging for attention. Other than me, no one can make Papa smile like Jovi can. The nurses stop in and say hello, ensuring everything is okay. The ladies can’t seem to stay away from him.

“My father taught me how to go to tables and hug the women” Well that proves my point.

“I was only eleven, and as time went on, I was singing at a few beer joints. A friend of ours owned a bar, and it was on the corner of fifty-seven and Euclid called the Old-Timers Café. They had a clambake. And this was a friend of my mother and father; they were such nice people. Ironic isn't it? Ellie and Jeannette Shapiro, I think their names were. They told my dad to bring me to this clambake to sing. I made thirteen bucks that night,” Papa glistens with satisfaction and pride.

“And don’t think that my old man didn’t try to take it from me. But I wouldn't give it to him. But like a dummy, I gave it to my mother. I didn't know better then. I wasn’t smart enough. But as you get older, you learn. And time went on. I worked. I didn’t need my parents; they were good for nothing. I worked in the market with old guys that took out a horse and buggy and piled up loads of vegetables. One guy took me out on a Saturday and Sunday with one-hundred and thirty-six bushels of Macintosh apples. We didn’t sell any on Saturday, but I begged to go out on Sunday. I got a dollar and a quarter in pay. At least I had money for school. I didn’t take lunch from my mother. I didn’t like her much. I think you know that by now. But yeah, no matter where we moved it was the same thing. Then we moved somewhere else, a nicer place. Which my old man didn’t pay anyway. We got kicked out of there. Shocker. And we moved down the hill. What a dump. I mean, what a god damn dump. The houses were sunk into the ground about; I’d say two and a half to three feet. Finally, they filled in around all of the houses, so it wasn’t so bad. But when I walked around that neighborhood with these kids alone, they would walk with me. As soon as they saw a friend of their, they walked across the street. They didn’t want to be seen with a Jew. They hated us. But now, I have a family full of love, and that’s all that matters. Look at what I made.”

Lawrence Leuchtag was clearly not fed with a golden spoon. He did everything he could to make something of himself. What Papa ended up making is better than any success he could have had in life. He would attest to that without a doubt. Without Papa, there would be no us. My mom is Papa’s “Number one” and I’m the other “Number one” because I’m the first great-grandchild. I like to think that it makes me special. One thing I remember most about my childhood is the food Papa and GG would feed us. They didn’t just want to fill my heart with love, but my belly too. Their go-to snacks were spearmint leave gummy candies. It wasn’t until I got older that I realized how fitting these bite-sized snacks were. Like Papa, they were soft with a bite and truly unique.

“Let’s take a break, for now. I’m getting tired.”

“Alrighty, Papa. Don’t forget to stay positive and keep that smile on your face. Happiness keeps the hospital away. I don’t want any negativity.”

As he places two of his famous wet kisses on my cheeks, a tear falls from his eyes and his heart-warming smile grows. I can tell this time is different. I know what he’s thinking. He’s ready to be happy with GG.

“I love you, more,” he says.

“Never, Pops.”

Isn’t it funny how never and forever are so eerily similar?