Every home my father had was open to me. From the friged-air to the bathroom to the bed. I have many many fond memories of my father playing with me as a very little girl and shootin’ the breeze as an adult well into my 50’s. He was 18 years old when I was born … still a boy reallly. I do understand this now. My father made me famous. In many ways, as he was. I couldve done without it. Can, still. Yet, I am so good with who I am. With what he gave me. With what ‘I’ have done with it. The last words he spoke were to me. Until his resurrection on this earth, I do miss my father.