I was adopted when I was three days old. My parents were about to turn 40, and had been married for 12 years, so they had waited a long time to finally have a child to call their own. We lived in Indianapolis at the time, and my mother, a full time wife and homemaker, couldn't wait to send my father off to his job as grain buyer for Central Soya each day so she could stay home and "play" with me.
My mother and father enjoyed going out dancing on Saturday nights and actually first met at a dance after World War II. They met in Middlebury, and one of the local bands that played there would play the song "Candy" when my mother walked in wearing a particular red and white striped dress. My dad and a buddy came one night, and the buddy liked my mom, so my dad decided to try to "steal" his buddy's new girlfriend. He got up enough nerve to ask her to dance, sang "It Had To Be You" into her ear, and the rest — as they say — is history.
So dancing and music was something my mother and father enjoyed very much and exposed me to at a very early age. (Don't you love the seams in her hose — and how skinny his tie is?)
