MY Grandfather's name was Nathan Cherinsky. He was born on December 14, 1894, in Russia. He fought in World War I. He was gassed and imprisoned. He survived and, in 1922, he moved with my Grandmother to Brooklyn, NY, where together they raised four girls. He was a man who married young, worked hard, and led a serious, sometimes even rigid life. But on his retirement, something came alive inside of him.

When he left the city to relax into old age, Nathan became playful, funny, and joyful in a wonderfully absurd way. He seemed to be experiencing the childhood he'd never had. The greatest sign of this was how he, though not a cross-dresser in the typical sense, just loved to get dressed up. Fiddler on the Roof, Carmen Miranda, a Jewish Superman...All of these characters graced our holiday dinners with regularity. When my Grandfather disappeared from the table for a little while, you were never sure who would walk through the door and take his place. When he returned, he'd stand there waiting for everyone to notice and he'd try not to laugh - which only made him laugh more until tears rolled down his face. Nathan loved to let go and to make other people laugh and, perhaps more importantly, he loved to laugh himself.

At the local diner, he would walk into the scene of truckers and waitresses as a different character from time to time. Dressed as a hobo, he'd show up and order a hobo sandwich - potatoes on a roll. Dressed as a Hasidic Jew - curls and all - he would sit down at the counter and order a ham sandwich. Something about the disguises gave Nathan a sense of freedom and fun...the very spirit that inspired this book.