Dear Mr. President

Just got off the phone with my almost-96-year-old grandfather. He mailed a letter to President Obama today suggesting that scientists should work on preventing tornados and hurricanes. His logic was that people said atomic bombs couldn't be made either.

Being one of the most interesting people in my life, and having neither the heart nor reason to object, I found myself almost agreeing with him. He does, in fact, have a point. At least, he has decent logic and it never hurts to suggest outlandish things. Baba (my brother, the eldest grandchild came up with that one) is one of those people who make you think twice about the value of a college degree, hair dye and whether or not to tell your favorite story in public. I also imagine he wrote said letter in pen on legal paper, with his signature all-cap printing. It is probably even legible.

"They don't want people writing to the President, you know, but I just figured someone ought to do something about those terrible storms. And it only cost me a stamp."

"Oh, they don't mind," I say, with a smile on my face and tell him about the ways that our President has made it possible for all sorts of people to share their ideas with him. Even people who don't know how to write in cursive or send snail mail. I also pointed out that there is considerable question about whether atomic bombs are a good thing or not.

 "They are most definitely not good for humanity," he stated.

He is the man who lived in a log cabin in Alberta, Canada. Who got one pair of shoes a year, whether they fit the whole time or not. He played stickball in the Bronx. Rode his motorcycle naked on New Year's Eve in New York. Lost his Dad at 17. Worked as a machinist on the Manhattan Project. Bought a house in 1942 for $5400.00. Raised 3 silly daughters (I suspect he is responsible for the "after-dinner-Pedronis," a bout of silliness that starts in our family exactly when dinner is over). Took wonderful trips with his wife. Calls his Ford "The Limo." Who scared me as a kid, annoyed me as a teenager and awes me as an adult. Loves his 6 grandkids to pieces. Who misses my grandma everyday. John Baptist Pedroni is loads of fun.

He is almost 100% responsible for my repeat story-telling that plagues my marriage and friendships (others, who shall remain nameless get some credit). But in 65 years I hope I am still able to retell all the best moments of my life. This may be one of them.