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But it's hardly the story I recall. What I remember is feeling the utter and complete joy that a child can feel when sharing a good story with someone they treasure.
My grandfather died not too long after that, when I was only nine, so my memories of him are very few. But this is one I hold onto. My grandfather was not a well-read man. He was a carpenter. He worked for most of his life making cabinets and tables and chairs. His garage smelled of sawdust. The tools were lined up on the walls, just so. What I remember, though, and what I treasure most is that he read with me.
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