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Are you one of those people who grew up with several siblings, some of whom others used to confuse you for when you were out and about. I was, and still am.
But can I first say how much I love my sister, Cindy, and my brothers, John and Tom. My sister has a heart of gold, and would drive up from her home in Warriors Mark to help you at a momentás notice. Now she might get lost on her way to Hollidaysburg, even with a GPS on her phone and in her car, but hey … that's for another column.
And what can I say about my brothers? Both were outstanding athletes in high school and college, both were academic success stories, both well read, one a successful doctor and one a successful coach-teacher.
In other words, not me.
When Tom and I were younger, because we were only two years apart, we used to hang out together. When we were out trying to meet girls, I used to tell women he was my older brother and that if I applied myself, I could be like him. Heck … all I needed was one girl to believe me. They never did.
In high school, girls would ask me if the Franco in 10th grade was my little brother. I would take my time answering them because if I said yes quickly, they walked toward him … and quickly away from me.
But that's OK. I have always, and will always, brag about my brothers until my last breath. Heck, I still get flack from some Bishop Guilfoyle alums who cannot believe I would pick my brother's Tyrone football teams over BG in the paper. And to that I say … actually my boss, Neil Rudel, says we are not allowed to print those kind of words that I want to say in a family paper.
But I digress.
Just recently, I bumped into a man who asked me if I was the guy on the radio after I introduced myself to him. I was thinking he confused me with my cousin at WRTA, Rich DeLeo. He said no. He wanted to know if I was the guy on with Rich doing BG football games. That was my brother, John, I informed him. He talked about how much he enjoyed John on the radio and how good he was on the radio.
I did tell him I occasionally call in on local radio and voice my opinion about sports … but I got nothing but crickets.
Years ago, maybe around 2005 or 2006, I was working as a celebrity grocery bagger with Neil at the Giant Eagle in Altoona. We were raising money for a local charity, and any chance I get to be out-and-about to schmooze, I take it.
So here comes a teacher from my days at BG, who was my sophomore religion instructor. I was excited to see him because I probably had not seen him since 1983. He'd have to remember me, right?
As he approached with his cart, I introduced myself "Father Rosensteel … My name is Scott Franco. I don't know if you remember me, but I had you for my teacher in 10th grade at BG, and I also used to go to all the dances at St. Mary's where you chaperoned."
He looks at me, and with all sincerity says, "Are you the doctor or the football coach?"
I told him neither and that I'm the grocery bagger and thanks for coming.
But it gets better.
Right in the next lane was Father Mark, who I also knew from my younger days and he decided to have fun with my bruised ego. He had heard the whole exchange and with a big smile says, "Don't worry. I know who you are. You're John Dibert's friend."
My best friend … to this day … John Dibert.
But you know what, I was still a part of the conversation, so I'm not going to complain … unless I can get a joke out of it for this column.
Mirror Sports Staffer Scott Franco writes a monthly column for the Mirror.