Happy Birthday...

...in heaven, Ginny.

When I write posts about my family it occurs to me how extraordinarily lucky I was. In college, listening to my football teammates berate their drunken and/or abusive dads, I'd joke that I must have had the last non-dysfunctional family in America. My parents loved each other, and everybody adored me. That's not ego talking; they simply made it clear in their behavior toward me. My sisters were two very different personalities (as I note briefly in the eulogy linked above), but I knew they both loved me and, perhaps more important, not for one moment did I sense the resentments they probably should have had, given that my parents were impoverished when the girls were young, only began to see their way clear when I came along, and thus showered me, their only son, with new toys, nice clothes, their free time, etc.

So the question arises: Why did I turn out to be the monumentally disaffected f**k-up that I am?

Anyway, thanks again, Ginny. You were a second mother to me. You tried...