On Why My Dad Hates Pete Rose

Note: Not his actual signature

So here's the part of the story I didn't tell the other day. I'd shied away from it because it makes someone look bad, and the point of yesterday's piece was to try to maybe make folks feel a little better, but once Dad pulled the string on this one, it was full steam ahead.

To wit: Pete Rose was a jerk back in 1981, too.

On Handwriting Worse Than Mine: Monte Irvin and the Uses of Nostalgia

So I'm looking at an old American Cancer Society event program that my folks got for me, back when they were officers in the New York chapter. The program is from an old banquet where they celebrated various sports figures, and my dad got various of the attendees to autograph it for me. There's five or so signatures in there, along with a couple of inspirational messages from figures that eleven year old me probably wasn't in any position to appreciate. But that didn't matter; my folks got it for me, and I've kept it and treasured it for thirty-plus years.