Well, Don T., let's see if we can raise the tone.

Both of my parents were wonderfully supportive of things my sisters and I were seriously interested in.

When I was six years old, I started drawing comic strips, inspired by "Buck Rogers" in the Sunday funnies. When I was still at it at the age of twelve, and determined to be a second Milton Caniff or Hal Foster, I had acquired a couple of books on how to draw comic strips and what materials were needed. My father took a list I had made up (of India ink, the right kind of pens, the right kind of paper, and other necessary accouterments) to an art supply store and brought home a supply of goodies. I was ecstatic, and went to work assiduously producing an adventure strip about a World War II fighter pilot. That he bore a striking resemblance to Steve Canyon was not really intentional. . . .

My two sisters both "ODed" on Sonja Henie movies early on and wanted to take up figure skating. After attending a few public sessions at a local ice arena, they decided they wanted lessons. Dad signed then up with a local pro and bought them the right kind of skates. My mother drove them to and from these lessons. The end result of this endeavor was that both of my sisters won national skating championships, and my younger sister qualified for the World Championships in Vienna in 1955 (came in seventh behind powerhouse skaters like Tenley Albrigbt and Carol Heiss). My mother chaperoned and took care of a multitude of details. Dad provided the necessary funds.

Both of the girls turned professional and turned to teaching skating.

In my teens, I had taken up fencing. The family went to Berkeley, Caifornia for a few weeks for skating training, and while Mom and the girls were at the ice arena, Dad drove me to San Francisco where I took some fencing lessons from Hans Halberstadt, who was the Olympic fencing coach at the time. I took lessons from Halberstadt and had a chance to meet and fence with Gerry Biagini and Salvatore Giambra, two Olympic team members. They graciously cleaned my clock, of course, but I really learned a lot from them. I have a satisfying collection of medals and trophies from fencing in local competitions.

When I became interested in folk music in around 1953 and took some folk guitar lessons from Walt Robertson, I paid for the lessons on my own dime (Walt didn't charge much). Working in summer of 1953 for Boeing, I bought a Martin 00-18. Then, Walt suggested that I begin taking classical guitar lessons after he had exhausted what he could teach me. The only classic guitar teacher he and I knew of lived in a different part of Seattle, difficult to get to on the bus, so my mother drove me to the lessons.

During the first lesson, the teacher said that my Martin steel-string guitar was unsuitable and offered me a classic guitar that the store he taught in had in stock: a Martin 00-28-G.

I couldn't afford it. My mother, who was sitting in on the lesson asked the teacher a couple of questions, then said to me, "Consider it an early birthday present," and wrote out a check for the guitar and a good hardshell case. The store took my 00-18 in trade—for what I had paid for it!

My mother continued to drive me to the weekly lessons, until the teacher said he had just heard of an excellent classic guitarist in my immediate area who had started giving lessons. And he went to the student's house!

By now, I had changed my major at the University of Washington from English Literature to Music. I paid for much of it, but my Dad made up the difference.

I'd say that Mary and Patricia and I were blessed with pretty terrific parents.

They didn't push us into these activities, but anything we were seriously interested in, they were supportive all the way.

Don Firth