Thursday, Dec. 30, 1999
“I remember in my youth, I had made a mask out of rubber bands and construction paper. It was a beautiful thing, glittering with sparkles I had glued around the eye holes. I would wear it everywhere and would make people call me 'Mr. Dingle' and refer to myself in third person as in 'Mr. Dingle would like some mashed potatoes' and 'Mr. Dingle demands we watch cartoons.' One day, my father approached me with a sad look on his face. Great Aunt Mable had died of pneumonia and the family was in mourning. So my father says to me, in that gentle way of his, 'Son. We all like Mr. Dingle, but I'm afraid he's not invited to the funeral. Only you were invited.' I was stunned. I said, 'Dad! I'm 22 years old! I'll decide whether Mr. Dingle is invited or not!' Mr. Dingle enjoyed that funeral. I think Great Aunt Mable would have been proud.”

“Mr. Dingle”