What’re the odds that a poet be born into a family named Read – to have as his own proper noun, the Janus of a verb that always looks both ways? That is the tip of the iceberg of good luck that is my fate. It came to me from my father, David J. Read (1915-1963), who was a model citizen in the city of Oswego, NY, and a heroic soldier during WWII.
This photo indicates that winter came late to Oswego in 1948, as Christenings were usually scheduled several weeks after birth, which would date it to mid-December. My grandmother, whom I barely got to know before her sudden death ten years later, was fond of bold chapeaux!!