The family is suffering from multiple cases of mistaken identities.

I was particularly crushed to find that grandson Mike apparently doesn't worship me quite as much as I had thought. At the beach with us on vacation, Mike toddled over to another family where he spotted a man wearing a red hat and sunglasses (which happened to be my outfit of choice that day as well).

Mike cheerfully climbed into the stranger's lap. When his mother pointed out the error of his ways and Mike realized this was not his beloved PopPop, he seemed content to continue to sit with the stranger. Wonderful. That's one kid out of the will.

Still, the lady of the house insists that with Mike's birthday upcoming, we have to get a gift for the little ingrate.

Perhaps I can just put a bow on our front door, since I have again been reminded that I must decamp from the family estate on account of Mike and brothers Ike and Spike moving in.

I am willing to do so, of course. Anything for family peace and harmony. But I don't know what to do about my newspaper subscription. I hesitate to ask that it be re-routed to another address because, when I tried to do that while at the beach, I ended up with papers being delivered both to the beach and to my home. (Never let it be said that our circulation department doesn't try to increase sales!)

Perhaps I could use the extra copy to join a “Fancy Football League.”

This is what the lady of the house seems to think our son-in-law is involved with.

There was a draft for NFL players the other night and she asked him where this “Fancy Football thing” was taking place.

I've always thought it was a Fantasy Football thing, but I'm not arguing with the lady. I recently took a Sig Sauer handgun course with her, and I know my place.

Besides which, I could find myself on consignment, which is where I have been spending my Sundays.

Silly me for not understanding these modern times. Apparently, when you move these days, you don't get to take your furniture. You have to get new stuff.

I may just move back to Candia, my ancestral home. It was in the news last week when, in a dispute over the old landfill, one man allegedly popped another in the eye. Again, it was all a misunderstanding. The puncher thought the punchee was trash-talking him.

Write to Joe McQuaid at publisher@unionleader.com.