"I'm glad to hear you say that," Dad said.

"Because you make me feel happy and lucky." "Me, too," said Sharon. She gave me a soft

kiss on the cheek.

My dad cleared his throat in the way he does when he's getting choked up over something. "Well," he said, "I better put the groceries away before the frozen items melt." Putting stuff away is a job my dad loves. He is just about the neatest person in the world. He even alphabetizes cereal boxes and the bottles on the herb and spice rack. "After I put things away I'm going to make ham and french toast for brunch," he told me. "Will you have some?"

"I'd love to," I said. "But can I work on my autobiography while you cook?"

"Sure," he said.

"I'll put the groceries away, Richard," Sharon offered, - "so you can start cooking."

My dad and I exchanged a smile. Sharon is as disorganized as my dad is organized. If she put the food away we were apt to find the ice

cream melted all over the vegetable bin and the lettuce in the freezer.

I knew Sharon and my dad would figure out who was doing what in the kitchen. And that they'd be happy while they were doing it.

Meanwhile, I went upstairs to work on my autobiography. I grabbed a fresh box of Kleenex from the bathroom cupboard. Even happy things can make me cry.

Chapter 2.

My father told me that I was a quiet and sweet baby. "When we first brought you home I didn't want to leave for work in the mornings," he said. "I just wanted to stay home and look at you."

"You must have been home a lot when my mother was sick," I said.

"Yes," he said, "I was home a great deal then. So it was the three of us, together. Alma, your mother, wanted you near her all the time. Your crib was next tO her bed. You were a comfort and a joy to her."

It makes me happy to know that I helped my mother, even if I can't remember.