FIRST PERSON

with the harmony.

During the party, Aunt Eunice was excited to be called to the front of the room to sing with the guitar player. One tune she knows well is “I’ll Fly Away,” which she sang in her own unique style.

Immediately after the party broke up, a nicely dressed woman and her daughter introduced themselves to my aunt, who remembered the older woman.

The woman and her daughter then asked me, “Who are you?”

In that setting, in which many families know other families, I answered, “I’m Dupey’s daughter.”

The woman broke into a huge smile. My mother, she told me, was her fifth- grade teacher. ( Before getting married, my mom had taught in the community.)

The woman went on to say that my mother, who died in 2011 at 95, was the best teacher she ever had — and that she had named her

A range of styles and subjects (but no political/opinion pieces) is encouraged, with a preference for content of a topical nature.

Your writing must be original and previously unpublished. It can be funny or serious, local or global, but it must be your own.

A submission should run no longer than 18 column inches (about 700 words). No pay is provided. No publication guarantee is granted.

daughter, Christine, after my mom.

The mom and daughter agreed to let me take a photo of them. As I did, the daughter confided that she had always wanted to be called by her middle name, Christine, instead of her first name, Wanda.

Had my aunt not been called to the front of the room at the party, this exchange probably wouldn’t have happened.

All text is subject to editing.

The writer should be identified by name, age, occupation, hometown and phone number. Anyone selected for publication will be asked to supply a photograph or have a photo taken.

A submission used becomes the property of The Dispatch; it cannot be reproduced elsewhere without our permission.

Send essays by mail to: Mary Lynn Plageman Features Editor The Dispatch, 62 E. Broad St., Columbus, OH 43215

Or email: talking@ dispatch.com

I was told that the mother, a resident of the nursing home, has a photo in her room from her school days.

The next time I return to visit my aunt, I hope to see the picture and talk more with the mom.

This family brought tears of appreciation to me on a gray winter day.