Memorable

I will admit that I am impressed by some people. I have been all my life. 

As a child my Uncle Ralph introduced me to the Governor of the State of Illinois and Gene Autry. He had pictures signed personally to him: To Brownie, Love, Marilyn Monroe, or Happy Trails, Roy Rogers. I thought my neighbor, Ralph J. Brown, who wasn't my real uncle, was the most important man in the world. He knew everybody! He was a custodian at the Armory.

And then there was my Uncle Mack, a blue-eyed, white haired man who promised to take me out to dinner and dancing when I turned twelve years old. He traveled all the time, selling coca cola machines he told me, but he would bring me little gifts when he came back. A dollar bill folded into a ring, or a real moonstone. He gave me his mother's silver for my wedding and then he disappeared off the face of the earth. Turns out he was a CIA agent.

My Great Aunt Lela, was a short, rotund woman with black curly hair, red lips and the most beautiful smile in the world. She was always ready to fix me something to eat even in the middle of the night and she would play with me for hours on end. She was born in 1890 and raised by harsh Victorian Grandparents. She weighed less than two pounds at birth, and could never have children of her own. I thought she was the smartest, most beautiful woman in the world. She was actually learning disabled and worked hard all her life caring for other people's children.

My Dad worked four jobs most of my childhood. He taught school, tutored, sold cars and worked at my grandfather's restaurant. He didn't play ball or go fishing with my brothers and he didn't usually make it to my concerts or recitals, but  he was always there for me and if I had a question about anything, he would know the answer, or find it for me. I was once asked who my hero was. It was my Dad.

It's not how much money someone makes, or how famous they are that makes them memorable to us. It is the love in their hearts and the kindness in their eyes when they look upon us.