I remember when I was 8, sitting in the back seat of my father’s Ford station wagon as he drove my grandma, my mother’s mother, to the airport for her flight back from our home in Miami to her tenement in New York. Not five minutes into the trip, he belted out, “Hate to see you go. Hate to see you go. Hope the heck you never come back. Hate to see you go.”
Read the rest of this article by Laura Black in Baltimore Magazine here.
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