My grandmother's birthday was this week. She was born in 1877 and would have been 136 years old. And when, in her honor, I looked at some family photos, I discovered something that I had not noticed before.
Although the photos below were taken at different ages in their lives, I noticed a real similarity between my grandmother and my granddaughter, both of whom mean so much to me. Yes indeed, I do see more than a hint of my own grandmother in my granddaughter's sweet, smiling face.
My grandmother, perhaps 17
My granddaughter, at 7
Like my grandmother, my granddaughter is blonde and slight and smart. She was born in Manhattan, where her great-great grandmother lived most of her life and her grandmother (that would be me) was born. She loves sweets and people, asks charming questions, knows all about presidents -- by chance, she has seen the current one up close -- plays piano, does her homework, enjoys swimming and tennis and adores her parents and her little sister.
My granddaughter is such a New York girl that when she was 4 and I pointed on the bottom of the globe to Antarctica, where I would be traveling, she said without a second thought, "Grandma, that's way downtown."
I have a feeling that she, too, will travel "way downtown." Not just across the ocean like her great-great grandmother, or to faraway places like her grandmother, but across the sky, beyond our dreams.
She lives in a city that knows the consequences of terrorism, and like her great-great grandmother, she has seen the consequences of hatred.
My wish for my granddaughter, the spirit of my grandmother deep within her, is that she -- and her great-great grandchildren living 127 years from now -- may also travel the world and live in peace.
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