When I was growing up, I took piano lessons from Miss Virginia Baird. She lived in a brown-boarded two-story house on the corner of Main and 9th Streets, and she had at least thirty cats that lived in that great big house with her.

Miss Virginia loved best to talk about what was happening in school with the other kids, but she also managed to teach me how to read music and play the piano. From age eight until fifteen, I went to her every week, and she filled countless black-and-white composition books with her careful, flowing script. I played “Moonlight Sonata,” “Flight of the Bumblebee,” and “Tarantella,” and graduated to harder pieces by Chopin, Bach, Beethoven, and Mozart. Year after year, I pushed on those black and white keys under Miss Virginia’s watchful eye. Slowly, I developed a basic understanding and love of music.

I remember thinking that Miss Virginia must be lonely. Her only friends seemed to be her sister who lived around the corner, her students, and her cats. She got dressed up every evening to walk the block and a half over to Miss Belle’s house for supper. I saw her at dusk many a night in her “Sunday best” dress, a black shawl draped over her stooping shoulders, and lace-up old lady shoes clicking softly on the pavement.

One day when I was around ten, Miss Virginia asked, “Who is the cutest boy in your class?”

“Philip Sewell is pretty cute,” I said. “And Allen Sanderson.”

She leaned closer. “Do you know who the handsomest boy in three counties was when I was growing up?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Why, Len, it was your very own daddy.”

I smiled.

Then she whispered, “Did you know that he and I used to date when we were young?”

My Daddy and Miss Virginia?

---

Later, I decided to get the story straight. “Do you like Miss Virginia?” I asked Daddy.

“Of course I like Miss Virginia,” he said.

“Did you know her when you were younger?”

“Sure I did. We’ve both lived here all of our lives.”

“Was Miss Virginia nice when she was younger?”

“Well, if you’re asking me if she had all those cats like she does now—no, she didn’t. Those cats came after her mother died.”

“Her mother?”

“Her mother got sick when she was pretty young. Miss Virginia decided to take care of her instead of getting married and having a family of her own.”

“Miss Virginia says you two used to date.”

“Oh, my goodness,” he said. “That was a hundred years ago.”

“You actually dated Miss Virginia?”

“I went out with her one time, for heaven’s sake.”

“She says you were really handsome.”

“Well, I did have my pick of the ladies—”

“Then why would you EVER date Miss Virginia?”

“Len, you can’t ever judge a person until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes.”

“Do you wish you had married her?”

“And miss your mother? I don’t think so.”

“Well, I think she still sort of likes you.”

“She might be lonely,” Daddy said. “Living in that big house with just all those cats.”

“Well, you ought to know that Miss Virginia talks like you were her boyfriend.”

He chuckled. “I swear it was only one date. And she was pretty back then.”

---

The next time I went to Miss Virginia’s house, she asked, “Did you ask your daddy about when we were young?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And what did he say?”

“Daddy said you were pretty.”

Her eyes lit up and she giggled. “Oh, that George Leatherwood. He’ll be a rogue to the day he dies—”