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She entered this world like a starlet at her Hollywood Premiere–the center of attention and fashionably late. Her name was agreed upon and in lights even before her mother and I were married, needing only the formality of her conception and birth to announce it to the world.
“A rose,” I explained to Sally is the most perfect flower in the world. Ah, but a dusty rose is something just short of perfection.” To the annoyance of close friends and family we kept the secret of her name until she arrived.
She entered this world like a starlet at her Hollywood Premiere–the center of attention and fashionably late.
As she was emerging into Dr. Treiger’s waiting hands that February afternoon in 1989 I assumed we had a son,; a beautiful, well-endowed baby boy. Only after the doctor announced “You have a daughter” and the confusion wore off did I realize how deceptive an appendage a longish umbilical cord could be. As I held her shivering in a towel I turned to Sally’s mother, Betty, who was there to witness this miracle and spoke her name for the first time. “This is your granddaughter, Dusty Rose O’Connor.”
