My playpen

There's a story here. When I was born my father's family kept a country house near Pawling, New York (about an hour south of where mine is now). My dad is the oldest of four boys and the house was a part of their lives for years. In the summers they would all come up with their girlfriends and then wives. Extended family and friends would all escape from the city to the house. Summer days were spent by the pool or playing tennis on the court or skiing on the lake. Evenings were barbecues and hanging out. My grandfather ran the grounds and my grandmother ran the house (each with their own management style). The house was full every weekend.

When I was born in 1972, I was the first of the next generation, a boy and Poppy Frank's first grandson. He and I would play for hours at the country house. My parents resumed the weekend trips upstate as soon as I was portable and Poppy Frank made sure I had the biggest playpen of any boy in the world. As big as a tennis court in fact, and he made a sign so that there would be no misunderstanding about it. This sign hung on our tennis court for years, well at least until the next grandson, my brother AJ, came along.

So now this next generation is claiming their own stake. AJ owns his own business, just like Poppy Frank. And I've put my energies into a house in the country, just like Poppy Frank. My playpen now may be smaller than a tennis court but I no longer have to give it up for an hour so that Uncle Gregg can practice his serve.