It was snowing in Norwood, Massachusetts the day I was born. My dad was at work when my mom into labor, so she called my aunt for a ride to Norwood hospital, where they were both born and my grandfather died.
The snow slowed down my mom’s sister, so she called a cab to the hospital, a half mile away from our place on Winslow Avenue. It’s understandable my mom couldn’t walk the 9 minutes, right?
I came a few hours later, given the name Dennis for my father and middle name Paul for my mother’s Italian grandfather, whose real name was Paolo. I was brought home from the hospital on Christmas Eve, in my parent’s 1960 Ford Sunliner convertible.
I’m assuming the top was up. Maybe not, and that could explain a few things.
Categories: Growing Up
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