Two women robbed of their proper memories

My father died right after my senior year in high school. But I still have wonderful memories of him, of how he took me to Yankee Stadium just about every night when I was growing up and, later, when I decided to play Little League baseball, how he participated, first as an umpire and then as a manager. I remember him teaching me how to throw a curve ball, a weapon that made me a fairly descent weapon in Little League. I remember our travels, especially our cross-country moves and this green luggage trailer he built all by himself and hooked up to our 1952 Dodge. And I remember how he taught me the tricks to winning at five-card stud.

I thought about all that when I read this story today in the New York Times about two women, Kay Rene Qualls and DeeAnn Shafer, who were the only two children born on May 3, 1953, at Pioneer Memorial Hospital in Heppner, Ore., and then were sent home with each other's parents.

The only time these two persons were ever in close proximity was in the maternity ward of Pioneer Memorial. Then they went their separate ways, each believing, I guess, they were being raised by their biological parents.

The tragedy here, at least to me, is that the parents of both women are now dead. Neither one will ever know their real parents, will be denied even the faintest memory of their real mother and father. I wish my father had lived longer -- I believe I have done some things in my life that he would have been proud of. I would have loved it if he had known his grandson. But at least I have my memories and those are precious enough.