BumpaMy grandparents' house felt more like a time machine than anything else. The wood-paneled walls were covered with countless faded portraits of family members. The room was dark except for a single light source, an out-dated TV. It blared a live baseball game, the hoots and hollers of the crowd reverberating through the house. Across from the TV sat a massive, red recliner. In the chair rested my grandfather, Bumpa. He let out laborious breaths as he proudly displayed his Marines baseball cap. A pipe perched in his wrinkled hand as wisps of smoke and tobacco fumes filled the room. Click, clack. A scurry of claws hit the wooden floorboards as a golden Labrador Retriever bounded in, her tail rapidly swishing. Bumpa's eye instantly sparked with joy, "Is that you, Shelby?"
With a great heave of strength, he hoisted his large body forward to pet his beloved friend. He looked up and saw his youngest granddaughter, me. I leaned over and embraced him while he kissed me three times on the