An annual tradition. Bittersweet, it means only a couple weeks left of summer, and it brings back a lot of memories. I remember tagging along as a kid when my dad would bring my grandpa and ciocia. My grandpa would just about crush my hand holding it from the parking lot. He had weak legs but still the strongest grip of anyone I ever met. I remember going to mass in the school while the new church building was being built, and touring the church while under construction.