Patricia Myers Krapf was born in New Jersey, where I lived with my parents and maternal grandparents in the second-story apartment of their three-story home. My grandfather, a fun-loving soul, spoiled my older brother and me by allowing us to do just about anything we pleased, as long as no harm came to us.
One of our fondest memories was running across the dining room table, squealing with delight until we reached the other end. Then my grandfather would twirl us around as we giggled uncontrollably and set us down on the tabletop to repeat the process. I was just learning to walk, so with Grandpa’s help, I made it from one end to the other. There are many stories of him spoiling us, but none, I’m sure, unique to our family, and none that pleased my grandmother.
Unfortunately, my relationship with my maternal grandfather was short. When I was one, my parents packed up for Columbia, South Carolina. From there, we spent two years in Kennett Square, Pennsylvania, and another two in Mexico City. My grandfather passed away while we lived in Mexico, and not long thereafter, my paternal grandfather died as well.
At six, I recall only one memorable event in Mexico, when in July 1957 a 7.9 earthquake rocked the city. It was my first earthquake, but not my last. However, the next one would not occur in Mexico, because soon after this disastrous event my father was transferred back to the US.