For my entertainment, Michael would utter a few worlds of both Lithuanian and Russian. I would repeat and try to commit them to memory to dazzle my pals back in Florida whom, I was sure, had never heard any words of either. But it was impossible to remember. The only word I could grasp was the Russian word for pussycat — “koshechka.” He grinned widely at me when he said it.
After dinner and just before dessert, Michael would produce a fresh five dollar bill and present it to me, just as the Lord must have presented the tablets to Moses. And like Moses, I was transfixed by the vision of the prideful face looking down at me from the other side of the dining table. No one had ever glowed at me like that. All of a sudden, Dad would nudge me and ask, “what do you say?” He was a little annoyed as if I had no manners (or had forgotten them). Immediately, I would snap out of my reverie and say “thank you Grandfather.”