My wife and I spent a few days at Cape Cod in late Nov., 1991 when it was very quiet, and we ended up at the Kennedy Compound and were allowed to stroll the grounds. Other tourists approached us and asked if they could have their picture taken with me. I was dumbfounded, but obliged.
A groundsman later told me that I was a dead ringer for one of Rose Kennedy's grandsons.
That's exactly what I thought when I first saw a picture of you (in which you and your kids were outside of a ballpark).
Later that night my wife and I stopped at a quaint Italian restaurant in Hyannisport. We were the only patrons there because of the time of year, and as I entered, the owner, a little old white haired guy, walked past my wife and hugged me before taking us to our table. My wife thinks that he confused me for a Kennedy.
For the rest of the trip I was just a commoner.
