Mother always called me Marguerite though I was christened Margaret Mary. The priest at Gesu Parish wouldn't let me be christened Marguerite as Mother wanted because there was no St. Marguerite. The rest of the family calls me Marg. All of our names were reduced to one syllable - Gin, El, Kath, Mar, Ed, Paul, Tad, Mike, Marg, & Bob - but Mother always used our full names, except for Tad. Now, everyone outside the family calls me Margaret.

Mother was a refined, genteel, dignified lady at all times. She dressed up every day. Always wore a dress - never slacks - ­with nylon stockings. In those days, before pantyhose, that meant a girdle with garters. She always wore earrings. Her mother, Munner, told her that the last thing a lady should do before going out for an evening was to take off one piece of jewelry. She never wanted to drew attention to herself. She had beautiful, thick, wavy, silver-gray hair.

Dinnertime, at 6:00 every day, was the daily gathering of the family followed by the family rosary. One night Tad and Paul were the only ones there to say the rosary aloud so Tad said the "Hail Mary" half of the prayer and Paul answered the "Holy Mary" half.  But they said it simultaneously so they got through the rosary in half the time!

We sat in the same seats every night - my place was at the end to Daddy's left. Always a white linen tablecloth and the table properly set. We would tease Mother and set the dinner plates so the pattern was crooked and wait for her to tell us to straighten it - she would laugh. We also teased her about the way she pronounced "potatoes." She used the Irish pronounciation, though we didn't know that's what it was, "podadas." We had mashed podadas with gravy nearly every day.

I don't know how she managed a houseful of kids while maintaining dignity, grace, and humor but she did. Daddy was not around much but his presence was certainly felt. We always called him Daddy, even after we were grown. The grandchildren called him Daddy Dunne and they called Mother Nola.

Daddy used to say the Sigg of the Cross in Gaelic:

In Anum on Aher (In the name of the Father)
Auguson Vich(And of the Son)
Augus on Sprid Naeve (And of the Holy Ghost)
Amen

Daddy would sometimes slip me a nickle or dime and say, "Shhh - don't tell anyone". I felt so special!

Daddy would go grocery shopping sometimes on Saturday, probably after a detour to the golf course!, and we would wait for him to come home hoping he bought a bag of suckers. He sometimes brought the little Dum-Dums but on occasion he would bring the big Tootsie Pops - what a treat!

Daddy had a friend named Harry Keller. For some reason we would say "Ho Hum, Harry Keller". I sometimes still say it when I yawn (Try it on a long, slow yawn – it will make you smile)

Tad, Mike, Bob, and I also used to say "Onnie wannie stinkety store" I have no idea where that came from or what it means.

We would go to the cottage at Burt Lake for the entire summer. Mother would drive one car (about 7 hours) and Daddy would drive the other car (about 5 hours, unless he stopped at a golf course along the way). The trick was to find out if Daddy was stopping. If so, we would try to ride with Mother. Otherwise Daddy was faster. Mother and the kids, would stay all summer and Daddy would come up some week-ends.

Our parents taught by example - there was not a lot of conversation. In the traditional Irish way, we weren't raised as much as allowed the freedom to grow up - I call it loving neglect. We were generally good kids not because we feared punishment as much as our parents disapproval. Daddy was understanding about common mishaps - someone broke the basement window (not me) and his reaction was "Its not the end of the world, we'll fix it." I always felt protected and that they were always on my side.

In speaking of his family at his retirement dinner he said that he was responsible for quantity and Mother was responsible for quality. They always treated each other and us kids with love and respect. I never heard them argue and they never yelled at us.

When he walked in the back kitchen door after work, Mother was there preparing dinner, they would kiss each other then he would fix them each a high-ball!

I was 24 years old when they died, both of cancer about 2 weeks apart. Our dear brother Bob and I were the only dependent children left when they died. Bob died in 1985 in a motorcycle accident in Canada where he lived and worked as a postman. He was 40 years old.

When our parents died, Bob was living at college in Windsor, Canada. He stayed with Virginia after that during college breaks and married Kathy Mallon about a year later and settled in Canada. He gave up his American citizenship and became a Canadian citizen. They had no children. He raised Huskies and had about 5 of them when he died.

Our sister, Marion lived in our neighborhood with Gerry and their seven young children when Mother and Daddy died. She welcomed me into their home, fixed up a room for me with new wallpaper (I still remember the pattern), curtains, etc. Gerry would not let me pay rent. They let me use their already busy home to live and plan my wedding. I stayed about 3 months until I got married.

I don’t know how Marion managed a houseful of kids and a sister in need while maintaining dignity, grace, and humor but she did.

If you doubt God's Divine Guidance, read on: I was 24 years old, single, and dependent when Mother and Daddy died. Girls at that time lived with their parents until they married, it was unusual for a girl to have a career as we know it today. I had a low-paying job in a medical office and wasn't able to support myself financially. Three months before they died, we knew they were terminally ill, I met my husband Bob. We were married 5 months after they died and we recently celebrated our 30th wedding anniversary. At a time when I was afraid to trust my decisions, the timing was too obvious to ignore. The message was clear, I just had to see it.

Bob and I have two great kids, Bobby is now 29 years old and an attorney and Karen is 27 and a teacher. Karen is engaged to be married to Bobby (another Bobby) Flynn in May, ­of this year.