Tuesday, June 24, 2008
When I was about five years old, my father invited one of his clients to visit our home. My father was a criminal defense lawyer, and to this day I cannot imagine what crime she might have committed because she was a beautiful, charming, one hundred-year old lady with cumulus cloud hair and a radiant smile.
She bent down to look into my eyes and said, "Call me Sally." Then she took my hand and said, "Show me your room. Show me everything," and sprinted up the stairs, pulling me behind her.
I think at that point, the course of my life was set. I wanted to grow up to be just like Sally.
Today is my birthday. I am not 100 years old yet, but I am well on my way and with a great deal of luck I will reach Sallyhood one day. In the meantime, I remember her bright spirit and still aspire to be like her.
I never saw Sally again, but it's safe to assume that she is no longer passing out joy like lollipops to little children.
Rest in peace, Sally.
Live in peace, my friends.