Prologue -- The Middle Place...So for thirty-some years I have been stopped at the gas station, the farmers' market, the swim club to hear something like: "You're George Corrigan's daughter? What a guy. What a wonderful guy."
I think people like him because his default setting is open delight. He's prepared to be wowed -- by your humor, your smarts, your white smile, even your handshake -- guaranteed, something you do is going to thrill him. Something is going to make him shake his head afterward, in disbelief, and say to me, "Lovey, what a guy!" or "Lovey, isn't she terrific?" People walk away from him feeling like they're on their game, even if they suspect that he put them there.
He does that for me too. He makes me feel smart, funny, and beautiful, which has become the job of the few men who have loved me since. He told me once that I was a great talker. And so I was. I was a conversationalist, along with creative, a notion he put in my head when I was in grade school and used to make huge, intricate collages from his old magazines. He defined me first, as parents do. Those early characterizations can become the shimmering self-image we embrace or the limited, stifling perception we rail against for a lifetime. In my case, he sees me as I would like to be seen. In fact, I'm not even sure what's true about me, since I have always chosen to believe his version.
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I've written about my favorite author Kelly Corrigan on this blog before. Tonight on Facebook I learned that her Dad, her beloved Greenie, had died. To honor him I included an excerpt from the Prologue of her book, "The Middle Place." We should all have someone in our lives who makes us feel so good. Better yet, let us be the kind of people who do that for others.
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