Noah's Bubbe

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Kathleen Moore is an RN, a mental health counselor, specializing in the field of grief and loss, and a person with impeccable taste in music. If you were to address her more formally you'd refer to her as Dr. Moore. She has a PhD in her field. She's a classy lady, not stuffy, and she knows her stuff. My wife and I have both benefited from her expertise. With all of these accomplishments, the real love of her life, however, would be her eight-month-old grandson Noah. If you asked her how Noah is progressing, like any grandparent she pulls out a stack of pictures to show you. He's adorable! I love babies, and the truth is that a baby's cheeks are not safe in my presence, because I have an irresistible urge to munch on them. One of my daughters, who just turned nineteen, says, "Daddy, you're a dangerous man. I'm lucky to have any cheeks left after you got to them."

Noah has a Jewish daddy, and I can envision him in typical Jewish fashion as he's grown up and in college. His friends are bragging about the many accomplishments of their parents, and telling about those in their families with their many degrees. Noah stops them, and says to them: "That's great, guys, but have I ever told you about my bubbe?"

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