DOREEN ANN LAPLANTE 1932-2010

Dear Spike:

I was 16 or 17, I suppose. I can't remember for sure, but I know it was some time shortly after I had my second ear pierced, since that's apparently what prompted the whole conversation.

I was sitting at the kitchen bar in my grandparents' home in Santa Clara. Grandma was on the other side of the bar, probably diddling about on one of those hand-held video poker games that she enjoyed so much. We were making small talk. This and that. School and work. Soccer and girls.

She asked about the new stud in my right ear. "You don't see that on boys much, do you?" she said.

No, I told her, you don't. That's one of the things I liked about it.

She looked at me and smiled. And then she reached across the table and placed her hand on top of mine.

"You know," she said, "I will always love you — no matter who you choose to love."

"Um...." I said. "Yeah, I know."

"I mean it dear. No matter who."

"Grandma..." I said. "Are you suggesting... What I mean is... I appreciate that but... I'm not gay."

She just smiled and looked at me with a look that said, "I know a lot more about you than you think."

Whatever. It was the thought that counted. And it was a lovely thought.

She was the product of an old-school Catholic upbringing. She was a strongly opinionated woman. Her sons didn't always make the decisions she would have made. Her grandchildren even less so. And while she didn't always approve — and often let us know it — she never failed to remind us that, above it all, what was most important for her was that we were happy.

Your great-grandmother, Doreen Ann LaPlante, died Nov. 4 — just about six months after her beloved husband passed away. On the day after Thanksgiving, her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren gathered together at her favorite restaurant for an old-fashioned Irish wake.

We drank. We sang songs. And we told stories.

And we remembered a woman who loved us just the way we were.

Even if we weren't.

Love,
dad