My grandparents, who I call my Meme and Popop, were together since middle school but have known each other since they were three. They both grew up in a small town called Maybrook in the Hudson Valley. My Meme can literally brighten up any room she walks in with a smile. She is a 5’1, feisty little Italian women who can cook better than anyone I know. She grew up with five sisters, so all she ever preached to my sister and me was “how important family is”, words I will never forget. My Popop is one great man with a heart of gold. He is 6’2 and constantly smiling or laughing about something. He can take any negative idea you throw at him and make it into something positive. That’s just the type of man he was. One look into his big blue eyes and you could tell he was a wise, humble man who loved his family dearly. One of the cutest things was seeing my Meme and Popop hold hands. Such opposites yet they’re so perfect for each other. Popop once told me he was never allowed to take my Meme out on dates until she was 18 years old and with her father’s permission and approval only. They used to sneak out at night to see each other. It is crazy how different things are nowadays. Respect used to be expected and always given; now it’s a whole different story. My Meme’s whole life has been dedicated to her husband and children. Her life literally revolved around cooking for her “Yorkie” (the nickname she gave my Popop). Every Thursday I would go there for spaghetti and meatballs after my church school class. Every Sunday I would go there for breakfast and Sunday church. My Popop would always do the strangest thing and cut up his spaghetti to the point where he could eat it with a spoon. My meme would always yell at him and make me and my sister giggle saying, “That is not the true Italian way to eat spaghetti Yorkie! My father would be turning in his grave!”