You Cant Make this stuff up

Of course, it all started with our parents. They met on a blind date.

Bill was always quiet and passive. Ginny was the life of the party—a little crazy, a great storyteller.

After their third date, Ginny started calling him “Wallet.” This went on for weeks. Bill couldn’t figure it out. Did she think he had money? That he came from money? He was completely confused. Finally, he got up the courage to ask:

“Why do you keep calling me Wallet?”

Ginny thought, What’s with this guy? How dense can he be?

She finally blurted it out:

“How could a family with the last name Fold name their son Bill?”

(It’s actually Voll.) All his cards were signed “Wallet” for 60+ years.

The Drake Hotel

They didn’t waste any time with the Catholic rhythm method.

Nancy was conceived on the honeymoon, and the rest of us came one after another.

We once sat down with Mom and asked, “OK, how did this whole thing unfold?”

She said:

“Well, Nancy was born, and after three months of no sleep, baby food, and changing diapers, I just needed a break.

Dad and I would go to the Drake Hotel in Chicago for the weekend.

And every time I came back from the Drake—I was pregnant.”

So yes, we were all conceived at the Drake Hotel.

A few years ago, we even made a trip up to the Drake bar for a “conception celebration.”

And every Father’s Day, we’d tell Dad:

“Thank God you didn’t take piano lessons… or we wouldn’t be here.”

Nancy, The Trailblazer

Nancy, the oldest, always led by example.

At just seven years old, she taught us how to take empty bleach bottles, fill them almost to the top with water, shove in some dry ice, cap them, run, and watch them blow up.  At the next parent / teacher meeting, the nun said “ Nancy is a great student, well behaved but has the wildest imagination.  When asked about exciting things she did over the summer, her reply:  I taught my brothers and sisters how to blow up bleach bottles”

she also was a great witness of her Catholic teachings—by example.

She believed Catholicism was the only ticket to Heaven, so she felt sorry for the Altman, our Jewish neighbors. She took them cookies because, as she put it, “they weren’t going to make the bus.”

Nancy’s biggest moment of faith came one Good Friday.

She had us build a wooden cross, dig a hole in the backyard, and plant it upright. 

Then she convinced our 7-year-old Protestant neighbor, Kim Lehman, to strip to his shorts, tied him to the cross, and put ketchup on his stomach. This was the view from the Jews who got the cookies. 

She also conducted dozens of animal funerals with the rest of us as mourners. 

Dogs, cats, chipmunks, birds, turtles, goldfish, guinea pigs—even an alligator. She would gather every shoebox she could find for caskets. 
Every one had a full procession, prayer, and burial.  And of course she conducted funeral masses with a vestment sheet, wine glass chalice with grape juice. She would chug the “wine” and administer Wonder Bread hosts. 

The entire backyard had to be resodded because of multiple graves before the home would sell. 

That’s the beginning of our story. There’s a lot more to come. 

Stay tuned.