Then Lance proceeded to tell his kids about how we'd go to the Preston cemetary on Memorial Day and Grandma and Grandpa had their plots and my parents had their plots. And every year, my dad would lay down on the grass, cross his hands on his chest and say, "This is the spot right here where I'll be buried." Frankly, it was a little embarrassing.
As I was unpacking boxes, I came across a stack of pictures. Apparently, one year I snapped a photo of my dad and his brother, my uncle Jeff, preparing for their final resting place. Just in case Lance's kids thought we were making that story up.....
1 comment:
I had Steve come to read your blog - he laughed so loud I had to go to the other room.
Post a Comment