My grandfather Bernard Geraghty Sr. escorts my mother, Catherine Philomena Geraghty, up the aisle at Most Precious Blood Parish in Astoria, Queens, in June 1944 for her wedding to Francis Callan. Although Grandpa Geraghty looks like a holy terror here, he was a genial and beloved figure in our family. When I was young, my mother would repeat to me the stories he had told her as a little girl. Once I got to high school, I read a short story whose style and tone immediately brought the "Grandpa stories" to mind. It was "Araby," by James Joyce.