MountainMornings

I know this seems pretty simple but to me it meant the world. When I was little, my foster father Jim played cards with me almost every night after dinner. He also did the dishes first, but that’s another story. Because this story is  about ballerinas, and a daughter/dad relationship. 

We had an old cigar box filled with pennies. Oh yes, he taught me how to gamble too! The bets were one penny each game and the winnings went into my piggy bank. Surprisingly I do not attend Gamblers Anonymous meetings. 

Our running card game was gin rummy, easy enough for me to learn matching and counting in the same suit. Needless to say, hearts were my favorite. 

The important point here is Time. We talked, we laughed, we had a little snack and btw, we played cards. Jim worked at Picatinny Arsenal, and he got home every evening a little after 4pm. Right after Art Linkletter’s “Kids Say the Darndest Things.”

Granted I was an only child in our tiny house. The Flapper and my brothers and sisters lived in Scranton, PA. We would drive over the Delaware Water Gap frequently to visit them. Still every night, like clockwork, I played cards with my Daddy. 

And I was reminded recently that Hillary Rodham Clinton’s family was from Scranton. Irish/Welsh coal miners, just like mine. Strong women who survived alone after mine accidents claimed their husbands. I was also told that Grace Kelly came from that neighborhood, a real life princess who was famous for her portrayal of Hitchcock heroines. The Love Bug will enjoy her movies some day, since she loves princesses!

So go ahead Hillary, and play that “Woman Card.” We are the generation that fought for women’s rights. That died in back alley abortions, that forged our backbones on our Suffragette sisters. 

So that little girls have the opportunity to have pay equity and play tennis and soccer in the big leagues, and also play princess and study ballet. Because we all know a true ballerina is stronger than any elitist rich boy running for president. Right?

My mission in Nashville is done. This old ballerina can hang up her toe shoes, while the next generation of strong young girls is fitted for their pretty pink dance slippers.