The longer I live with Mike, the more clues I find that my adoptive ancestors were overly adventurous and perhaps a bit crazy. Take this picture of my Grandpa George riding his pet crocodile in 1925, when he was three years old:
M says that back then, Grandpa lived in a jungle-y place called Honduras, where his dad worked on a banana plantation and his grandparents had a gold mine. And wouldn't you know, the plantation was a lot more productive than the mine. But the point is that if this photo of Grandpa is typical of a day in his young life, I'm amazed he lived to be almost 90.
Which leads me to the main reason for this post: today is his 92nd birthday. Happy birthday, Grandpa!
While I'm at it I'll show you another picture from 1925. It's Grandpa's grandpa, who was also named George:
I think I'd better start keeping a closer eye on Mike, in case this penchant for going off the deep end turns out to be inherited.
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