“Duane”     It was the day before New Year’s Eve, 1954.  He stood with his back to me, and when he turned and smiled, there was a slight slip in my heart.  Several of us were heading for New Orleans to the Cotton Bowl – he had been elected to drive us.   He was with someone else, and I was to have a blind date for the football game, which my friend had arranged.   The blind date was supposed to look exactly like Tyrone Power, and I was excited.  “Tyrone” came up to my chin; had fortunately won at Russian roulette, but carried a scar on his temple.  After the game, we all went to Chad’s Lounge and danced.   Duane asked me to dance.  “I’d date you if you weren’t so tall,” he said.  “I’d date you if you weren’t so short,” I replied.  That was some 50 years ago.  We have both shrunk and are now about the same height.

“Julie”           “You have a baby girl,” the doctor said.  Deliriously happy, I cuddled this small thing with a patch of red hair standing straight up on her head.  She looked exactly like Duane’s Dad (at 60 years old).  Fortunately, she grew out of that!  Born a “mother hen and dictator,” she exudes confidence – can do anything.  Put a tool in her hand and watch her go!  She is my favorite.

“Kelly”       A replica of her mother!  She was born singing, “Let the Good Times Roll.”  Full of heart, she is a nurturer – a giver.  Laughs like there’s no tomorrow.  She filled our lives with bald baby birds, nests of baby rats – varmints that needed nourishing back to health.  Intelligent -- just show her one time and she knows how to do it.  If you can hum it – she can sing it.  She is my favorite.

“Matt”       “You have a baby boy,” the doctor said.   “A boy – I have a boy baby,” I yelled.  He looked so much like his Dad, my visitors to the hospital could pick him out in the nursery.  Dancing blue eyes.  Born a practical joker.  He’ll get a laugh out of you when you don’t feel like laughing.  A “thinker,” - give him time and he can “figure out” anything.  Creative – talented.  An artist, a songwriter, his heart is too big for his soul.  He is my favorite.

“Steve”       “You have another boy,” the doctor said.  “I’ll take him,” I said, as I cuddled my last-born.  He was beautiful with his dark hair and eyes that wanted to see everything.  A smile that wrapped around his ears, he resembled Joe E. Brown (if you remember him).  Quiet, sensitive, he appears to be full of secrets.  Give him a hammer and watch him build a house – a jack of all trades.  “Ask Steve, he can do it.”  He is my favorite.

“Sean”                 “I have a grandson!” I yelled from my deck, which overlooked the town of Wheatland, Wyoming.   When I finally got to see him, he went from his mother’s arms into my heart – solidly he has stayed there.  He’s a replica of his mother – caring, nurturing, with a smile that melts your heart.  “Grandma, where is up?”  - “Will there be dogs in heaven?”  He is my favorite. 

“Liz”          My first granddaughter – the spitting image of her “other” grandmother, with deep, auburn hair and brown eyes that look straight through you.  A replica of Kelly – a lust for life.  A replica of Julie, her mother – she carries confidence and poise as if the traits were made for only her.  Smart as a whip – a take-charge person.  She is my favorite.

“David”      The “tank” – David was built like a football player when he arrived in this world.  Solid as a rock!  A beautiful child – a beautiful young man!  Self-assured, his walk is one of purpose.  “Get out of my way – I know where I’m going.”  His smile hurts your heart it’s so “gathering.”  He is my favorite.