Pop

I remembered something about my grandfather's (We called him Pop.) funeral nearly 13 years ago. At the gravesite, the casket started to slide off the little platform thingy just before the ceremony. My grandmother (She goes by "Nan.") cried out, "Ooooh!" but the movement stopped and all was well. I chose to laugh, though I was mostly alone in that choice. But I knew that Pop would have thought it all to be very funny. I think their relationship was built mostly upon how much rise one could get out of the other. I consider that his final little jab.