At my grandfather's funeral, my cousin and I ate pretzels and did karate.
I was 11 at the time, and I understood full well why my mom had pulled me out of school to put a stiff black skirt and heels.
I knew about his degrading cough that had rattled his bones while he withered away on my grandmother's bed.
Still, we had only lasted 20 minutes in the line of people receiving kisses from old fat Portuguese women we'd never met as they babbled on in a language we didn't know.
Cole taught me Pin Yan 2 while my mother and uncle sat beside his deep brown coffin as my grandma talked of him accepting Jesus in his final days.
We laughed at that. There would be no one to meet Grandma in heaven. Grandpa was godless till the day he died.