CAPE COD, MA (1980)
As a boy Papa would often wake us at Four a.m.
He would rustle Mark, Jeff and I from our sleeping bags and we would scuffle from our tent.
I remember a snapshot moment of he and Great Uncle Jack hunched over a campfire, warming coffee, frying bacon and flipping eggs.
“They’re running today Jack,” Papa said. “We’re going to fill the boat.”
And we’d believe him. It was Bluefish season on Cape Cod and my grandfather and his brother had been fishing these waters their entire lives.
Raised as depression-era first generation Portuguese immigrants in a sleepy Southeastern Massachusetts farm town, my grandfather Lou and his brother Jack Katon spoke broken English, were always together and by all accounts were best of friends.
Early memories include countless hours exploring Uncle Jack’s barn and running through his fields. It was the home of Christmas night and invokes the smell of…
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