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She calls me 'P Pop'

December 17, 2011|Tony Mulieri

Just call me P Pop

So you go along for 61 years and your name is your name.

Then, this pip-squeak of a granddaughter comes along and your name is not necessarily your name anymore.

My 2 1/2-year-old granddaughter, Violet, can't yet say "Grandpa Tony." She morphs the word into "P Pop." And you can forget about "Tony" for now. That might come along down the road.

Now, I see how people get names like "Paw Paw" and "Pop Pop."

But let me tell you, when Violet looks up at me and says "P Pop," I about melt right there on the spot. She can call me anything she wants.



Snow on Oct. 29?

When my son, Will, and his bride-to-be, Amanda, were planning their wedding for Saturday, Oct. 29, they thought it would be a lovely fall day in Western Maryland.

Wrong.

That was the day it snowed on the last Saturday in October, enough to cancel the annual Alsatia Mummers Parade.

Our relatives, who were expecting a leisurely drive through the mountains to see the changing colors of the leaves, were met with a couple of inches of snow and a stressful ride to the church.

When we arrived at the church in Williamsport to get ready for the wedding, there was no power. The church was dark. There was no power in all of Williamsport.

Good grief.

At one point, the best man was doing his best to keep Will from seeing Amanda before the wedding because that could bring bad luck.

I remember saying out loud to anyone who could hear me, "OK, we've had a snowstorm in October and there's no power in the church. Just what kind of bad luck are we talking about? About the only thing left is a plague of locusts."

But right about the time I was saying that, the power came back on in the church and the wedding went off as planned.

It was a day we will never forget.



Just one more play

OK, this sounds silly, but just about every time I watch an NFL or college football game anymore, I get this nagging feeling.

I want to play. Just one more play.

I know it's crazy. I probably would get maimed for life, or worse.

But this feeling comes over me. I played football in pads from the time I was in fourth grade until one year after high school. It just seemed like a big part of my life — and then it was over.

Just one more time.

I would like to suit up, run down the field and get hit.

And I'll bet I'm not the only one who feels that way. I'll bet someone who was a dancer when they were younger or a musician or any kind of performer or athlete would like a chance to do it one more time.

Just one more play.

You go, P Pop. 

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