That was me, before I came out as a girl. Now I’m Dee, because no teacher could ever say or spell my first name, after a Celtic gal with a very sad story.
Dad taught me to dance, swim, play violin and piano, guitar, touch football and baseball with two bases in our yard. All the kids would come out and call on him to play and he’d say “after dinner.”
Everyone in the neighborhood came to see him every night and his only rule was “everyone gets to play.” That didn’t go for football on the street because babies were carried for baseball and the outfielders fumbled the ball often to make sure the baby made a home run. The street was different and less safe for kiddos. We lived by a sports coach and a canine detective, psych and electronics mentors all and lots of kids in eight houses on one dead-end street. One family had eight kids! Sadly my best friend died of a brain tumor at age seven. They never told me, just said he was visiting relatives. His dad’s wife died and he re-married so they had ten kids! More for play, miss Tommy.
Everyone Dad knew wanted to come to his funeral as well. I’ve yet to see his gravestone but am certain my brother will take me there soon. The funeral director recently sent me a kind letter and a map of this infamous cemetery. This is for Dad and Tommy, Dee
Cooking with Dee 