Today is my dad's 96th birthday. He told me all my life that my job was to keep him young in his old age. I have been claiming success for a long time now, and this year is no exception. I’m very proud of my accomplishment!
Today is also the day my dad is saying goodbye to his sister, Ethel. Her funeral is this afternoon. She was 93 years old.
My very earliest memory involves my Aunt Ethel. Here’s how I “remember” it – and if anyone else has a clearer memory of the occasion, chime right in.
We were at my Grandma and Grandpa Hansen’s house, in the living room. My “toy” was going to be Aunt Ethel’s purse. (I was an explorer back then. Had to rummage through everything. Famous for overturning wastebaskets. My dog-faced children take after me.) I was a toddler – meaning, not so steady on my feet. Aunt Ethel’s purse outbalanced me and I sat down flat on my butt. Everyone looked at me, probably to see if I’d cry – and instead I came out with my mother’s favorite expression, “Oh happy day!” They all laughed. I was delighted.
A star is born.
So, here we are. Instead of this post being about Daddy, it’s all about me.
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