I'm not sure what obsessive, compulsive behavior is, but I'm pretty sure that is the way my mom is with out of date groceries. On a recent visit, she opened my refrigerator and pointedly mentioned, "Did you know that this milk is past the expiration date?"

I replied, "I know, but I'm saving that carton for the cat."

It doesn't matter that I'm a grown man; I still got that "mama look". With eyes rolled back and a quick exhale of breath, Mom said, "When it's past date, you shouldn't even give it to your cat."

My five-year-old Granddaughter quickly came to my rescue. With hands on hips, she exclaimed, "It don't matter, Granny."

My mother gently asked, "Why is that sweetheart?"

Now, with her tiny shoulders pinched forward, both arms stretched out, with palms up and with a whimsical grin, she pronounced, "Cuz the cat can't read."

I know that everyone has a cute grandchild story, and I think this qualifies. It was more than that to me. In a brief instant, as I watched this unfold, I had an epiphany. My granddaughter's gesture with hands on her hips followed by the outstretched arms, palms facing upward, is a gesture that I've seen my mother make a million times. Not close, or sort of like Mom's, but more of a patterned replica. Her smile, the one we call her sly grin, is her mother's. I used to tease my daughter on how she did that smile. It is one done with only the left side of the face. I've tried, and practiced in the mirror, and I can't duplicate the smile. I thought it was uniquely my daughter's, but not anymore. Of course the logic, that smooth flawed logic, my granddaughter gets from me!

The epiphany is a simplistic one. This was not the life everlasting component of Christianity. Rather, in this snapshot in time, I clearly saw that through my children, through my grandchildren and hopefully, through their children's children, part of me will live forever.

My granddaughter came over to where I was sitting, put her hand on my knee and asked "Papa Bill - are you crying?"

I covered her little hand with mine and winked at her as I replied, "No sweetheart, I just have a tear in my eye."

She asked, "Why do you have a tear in your eye?"

Smiling, I said, "Cuz the cat can't read."