“Fold it once, and fold it twice and fold it once again, it’s been a wrong, song time…” 4 year-old Natalie sang, a bleating lamb-like tremble in the back of her throat.

“Aw, Natalie!” I said, dropping my fork. “That’s too cute! Where did you hear that song?”

“Member mommy, when we celebrate old grandmom’s big birthday?”

“Ah yes, of course.” I smiled, wondering what a child’s brain was capable of…really.

My grandmother had hit 100 years old, got her birthday card from the President… it was a great family reunion INDEED. Natalie was 3 at the time. I remember seeing my Aunt Dottie. Was it the first time I’d seen her sober? You betcha. She’d quit the sauce two years prior. Still looked very pasty and lost.

Then I spotted my cousin Kenny. He was staring at me, kind of misty eyed. I’d always thought he was a hot shot growing up, but, to make a long story short, he didn’t quite hit the stars. Divorced, he looked at me and probably thought I was living the high life, me in my expensive suit with my ideal husband and child.

“It’s all in your mind.” I quietly affirmed as I imagined what he’d been thinking. The room was filled with idle chatter, small talk. Many of the relatives hadn’t seen each other in so long, their conversations struggled. Then, my older brother presented a slide show set to great tunes, of my wonderful grandmother, as she was in her prime, as the mother of my dad, working, playing, laughing, cooking.

Thinking about all of this, tears sprung to my eyes, and I grabbed my daughter and started dancing around the apartment with her in my arms, singing “Fold it once and Fold it twice and fold it once again, it’s been a wrong song time….”

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