Call Me Zayde

I am a zayde because my son and daughter-in-law had a baby. I expected that I would be his zayde, and his zayde alone, but I was wrong. Once I became a zayde I discovered I was the world’s zayde. I discovered I wanted to play with everyone and everything: humans, animals, trees, the seen and the unseen. I rediscovered my love of blocks, and picture books, and making funny noises. I rediscovered my nose and mouth and eyes, and was reminded again and again how annoying it is to have someone—even the cutest someone—stick his fingers in any of them. People ask me how they should refer to me: Rabbi, Rabbi Rami, Rebbe, Reb Rami… my preference is Zayde. Just call me zayde.