I was not born during a Leap Year.  That’s always the first question when someone finds out my birthday is February 28.  Had I been late, my birthday would have been boring old March 1st.  My grandfather was a Feb. 29th baby however and during the 5 years that our lives overlapped, we celebrated together. He also insisted that I be named for him.  He was Bernard Dooley and he was by all accounts a force to be reckoned with.  He was a fireman back in the day with the Oakland Fire Department, had served as a dough boy in WW1, and lost an arm to lung cancer by the time I met him.  He pointed out to my mother that 1958 was the Centenary of Saint Bernadette’s Mary-sightings at Lourdes.  That plus the fact that I practically shared a birthday with him convinced her to change my middle name from Kathleen  (my grandmother’s name) to Bernadette. Thus began years of ribbing from my 3 sisters who all have “Anne” as their middle name. 

 Part 2 tomorrow.