My father was a quiet, funny, unassuming guy. Never, ever boasted, bragged or used foul language. Before he passed, I started writing down all the stories of his life that I could collect or remember. The Philadelphia Inquirer published it as a display obit. I can't begin to tell you how many people read it and called me, saying that they had no idea about who he really was and what he had done in his life. "He beats that Dos Equis guy cold". "That was the abbreviated and sanitized version", I told them, "you should hear about when he was in the service, driving army trucks going down to Mexico to buy pot, or how part of his job in the lab at Fort Benning's hospital was to check the local working girls for VD".
Every one of our lives has a movie in it, just waiting to be told.
Every one of our lives has a movie in it, just waiting to be told.









