I felt like paying homage to my Irish heritage. This is a picture of my very Irish father holding me. This picture of us was taking when I was a little over a year old. We lived in Springfield, Il. at the time and he drove a taxi. I'm sure I have told you this before but will mention it again. He was driving a cab in the windy city of Chicago when he met my mother. She had gone there to heal a broken heart and to see her older sister who was playing the piano in a night club. My mother had been engaged to a soldier and he was killed in an accident. When she met my wild silly Irish father it didn't take much for her to fall for him. He was twenty years older than she and a very smooth talker. He loved to dance, he was always the life of the party, could drink anyone under the table, and had a true Irish heart. He passed away at the age of 58 in 1961. My prayer is that he had time to make it right with God. I was not a Christian at the time. I accepted Christ into my life Feb. 10, 1976, and I thank God every day that my name is written down in His book of life. My Irish blood has turned to Royal blood, as I am now a joint heir with Jesus. To God be the glory.