Bass caught his heart, but granddaughter stole it.

Finally, Grandma and I got to spend plenty of time with our first grandchild, now a 20-something, pretty gal named Hannah. She’s now married, a stepmother to two cute boys and living too many miles away in Texas.

It’s been several months since we last saw her. And we’ve missed her fiercely. So, we were overjoyed a few weeks ago to hear she was coming home to visit. Sadly, the visit is now over and she is back in the Lone Star State. It’s a bittersweet realization for us, since we miss her near-daily visits, but are also so very happy she’s found deep happiness with a guy named Alex and his two young sons.

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Hannah’s visit home kept tugging my mind back to the first thing I ever wrote about her. It was a column published on Nov. 26, 1994, in The Courier. It was entitled, “Bass caught his heart, but granddaughter stole it.” I’d like to share that with you today:

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Big bass and tiny babies can cut deep ruts into a man’s soul.

This I learned three days before Thanksgiving, when I became a grandpa.

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