Leading with my Chin [antikvár]

I THE SEARCH FOR THE SEVENTH MAN B iologically speaking, I came late to the party. Which is to say, when I was born, my mother was forty-one and my dad was forty-two and my brother was already ten. I may not have gotten here on schedule, but at least I got here. This built-in generation gap probably defined me every bit as much as my distinctly peculiar blood mix. I'm a half-breed of the oddest sort: one part Scottish, one part Italian. The combination makes no sense. Because each side couldn't be more diametrically opposed. My mother, Catherine, was born in Scotland, and my father, Angelo, was a first-generation Italian-American. And I seem to be divided right down the middle. My Scottish side is practical, analytical, even a bit frugal. My Italian side is loud, outgoing, ready to laugh (and be laughed at). Of course, my mother never really understood the Italian part of my behavior. When I was a boy, she would always scold me, "Now, there's a time to he serious—and a time to hefunnyl" But, in truth, there was never a time to be funny! We could be