Christine Lavin - One Of The Boys lyrics

My grandfather Thomas was a serious man he worked every day of his life first as a lawyer then as a judge my grandmother Charlotte was his darling wife they had 7 children and 42 grandkids who looked up to him as the great patriarch he lived his whole life here in New York City quietly making his mark Grandpa was a type A workaholic before we all knew what those terms meant he'd bring briefcases filled with work papers to every family event he didn't drink he didn't smoke he was quite formal whenever he spoke and though we loved him we never felt close he was a serious man We always remember him working. And we heard stories about Grandpa's work ethic. He had a subscription to the Metropolitan Opera Back when it was on 43rd Street He had seats on the aisle in the orchestra section But had this habit of leaning over Using the tiny lights along the floor to illuminate his papers So that he could work and listen to the opera at the same time. I don't think ushers at this Met would tolerate that kind of behavior, But he got away with it back then. The six men brave enough to marry Grandpa's six daughters Never called him "Dad" or "Father" or "Thomas." It was always "Judge." That's how he liked it. Grandma and Grandpa never took exotic trips. My theory is that with so many grandchildren their dance card was filled Seems like every weekend they'd be attending a christening Or a confirmation or a graduation or a wedding. You can see Grandpa in all the old photo albums In his pinstripe suit, bow tie, and fedora. Proud and stately. He took his grandparenting duties very seriously. One shining Sunday in the mid 1960s grandma and grandpa were visiting our family we lived up in Peeksk** on the banks of the Hudson my parents, 5 brothers, 3 sisters and me As I recall we girls were with grandma having tea and cookies in the living room in the field next to our house were the boys playing baseball that afternoon The field next to our house was really a long sloping hill. Home plate was at the bottom of that hill. The outfield was up and the outer edge of the outfield bu*ted up against our house Like our house was where they'd be the warning track. Outfielders never played that deep, 'cause nobody ever hit that far What with the angle and all. At some point that afternoon I looked out the living room window Watching the boys at play Then went back to listening to Grandma tell us stories I didn't know where Grandpa was, But I figured he was off in a corner somewhere, working. But he wasn't. Never before and never after that something big happened that day Grandpa put his work papers aside he asked my brothers if he could play He took off his jacket undid his bow tie my brother Greg was the pitcher wound up, let it fly Grandpa connected Hit the ball high, high, high, high Grandma was telling us another story about New York in the olden days before there was a George Washington Bridge Empire State Building, or subways when all of a sudden the window was shattered we all jumped up to see what could the matter be to the floor cups and saucers clattered landing next to the baseball wondered who could the batter be... We ran to the window looked through the broken gla** there at the bottom of the hill stood our dear Grandpa leaning on his bat smiling so guts out enjoying the thrill 40 years later we can still picture him proud as a peaco*k puffed up with joy the only time we ever witnessed Grandpa just being one of the boys Grandpa was one of the boys