As a young boy growing up in Amsterdam, New York, I never really knew my grandfather LaBate very well. He didn’t speak much English, and my only conversation with him went something like this.
I was at Grandpa’s house one Sunday afternoon when he asked me, “Would you like a cookie?”
I was about four or five at the time, so I eagerly responded, “Yes.”
So Grandpa walked into the kitchen, returned to the dining room about a minute later, and handed me my “cookie,” which turned out to be a small cup of coffee. Confused and disappointed by our…