One Man's Junk Is Another Man's Treasure

My father really liked auctions. During warm weather we often went on weekends.

Livestock auctions were common in this part of the country but we did not usually go to them. Even if we lived on a farm livestock was not thrilling.

If someone died or was selling their house or sometimes even moving to another town the best way to dispose of things was an auction. Those were the ones we went to. Sometimes the house itself was sold that day. But often it was simply items from inside the house.

Furniture was usually sold by the piece. If for instance you wanted the whole set of furniture from the bedroom you would have to buy the bed, any tables, and dressers separately. There might be a box of sheets and pillow cases and another box filled with blankets. Homemade quilts were always warm so they were good to find too.

Boxes of dishes could be had for a price. Tableware would be in another box. Knick-knacks and wall hangings might come together.

In some of these big old farmhouses there was a lot to sell. Some of the houses were three stories high and all the rooms were used.

The prices for all these family items were low. After all they were used. And the family had to either sell them that day or figure out what else to do with them.

Mom watched for Mason jars. Those are the jars used to can food. They come in several sizes and Mom would make use of all of them. Hopefully they would come with the rings used to hld the lids in place. And even better would be if there was a box or two of the lids. A quarter or fifty cents would usually buy a box holding a couple dozen jars.

What Daddy liked the most was the "junk" boxes. Junk boxes contained items that either did not have enough of the same type of thing to make up a whole box or did not fit into a box of like items because the box was full.

So for ten cents (or a quarter if the box was a really big one) Daddy would buy as many junk boxes as he could from the ones available. When we took them home was when the real fun began.

We would open the box and dig around for treasure. Here is a silver serving spoon. A box of lids for Mom's Mason jars. A penny. A set of salt and pepper shakers. A pot holder. A meat grinder that fastens onto the side of the table. A set of coasters to put under drinks. An old costume jewelry brooch. A handful of bobby pins. A ricer. Japanese fans. Wind-up toy cars. A couple of wooden blocks. A half finished embroidery piece. An old album of pictures of the family. A can of motor oil. A funnel. Paper dolls. One saucer. A used lipstick. A comic book.

You get the idea. Those boxes were full of goodies. The fun was rummaging through them. We had no idea what we would find. How many meat grinders can one family use? We had dozens of those things. We also had dozens of mismatches shower curtain rings. But we had such fun finding them.

Where else can a whole family find that much fun for a dime?

Atomic Stew

 I have long said there is nothing you can do to hurt a salad, stew, casserole, or soup. You can add almost any ingredient and it will simply add a new flavor or texture. You delete almost any ingredient and not miss it.

Casseroles are good made from scratch but I also like them to use up leftovers. If you have a piece or two of chicken in the refrigerator and a little macaroni and cheese with maybe some leftover peas you have the basis of a casserole. Pour a can of creamy soup (like mushroom or celery) over the top and heat it in the oven. You have supper.

Of course you can get even fancier. You might add a bit of flavor with chopped onions. Maybe some color with chunks of fresh tomato. You could mix a bit of wine or soy sauce with the creamy soup. Your imagination is the only limit.

My father was a scout master for the Boy Scouts. Of course my brothers were part of the troop. They did all the fun things Boy Scouts do. I often sat off to the side and learned many of the same things.

Each summer the scouts would camp out for a week in the local park. They had great fun roughing it. They caught fish to cook over the campfire. They had all sorts of food that they made outdoors.

The last night was their favorite night of the campout. That was night they made atomic stew.

Each scout brought one can of something from home when he came to the campout. The label was torn from the can by his parents so no one knew what he brought including the scout.

Daddy noticed that mothers often sent a can of something not wanted at home. There was usually at least one can of spinach and one can of pork and beans.There was even an occasional can of fruit.

My father and the other scout leaders provided the meat for the stew. Once the meat was browned each can was opened.

The boys guessed at what was in the can. Often they would groan because it would be something they were sure they would not like. Then another can was opened.

After going through all the cans everything with no exceptions was dumped into the pot. When it was finally done one of the leaders would serve each boy his portion of the atomic stew.

Every last atomic stew turned out to be the best one ever. None of the boys ever refused to eat. In fact they all liked it. Spinach and all.

More Creativity

My father could do almost anything. He liked to joke that he was a "Jack of all trades and Master of none" as the old saying goes. I like to think he was master of many.

Daddy had many jobs during my life. He drove a truck, worked on farms, moved houses, worked in a munitions factory... well you get the idea. He was versatile.

Of course he was the main repairman for our cars. Who could afford a mechanic? And of course back then you could often repair the engine with a pair of pliers and a bit of wire. So repair them he did.

He could also do plumbing and electrical work. He tried being in that business for himself but it did not make him enough money for us to live on. If he could have been able to take a loss while building his business we would probably been more than comfortable.

Daddy could make anything. His favorite thing to work with was wood.  He built sheds, toys, cabinets, whatever needed building.

It stands to reason that when the opportunity arose he would build a house for us. The best part of it was that not only could we help, we were expected to help. We built the house as a family.

We had the ground leveled and a truck come out to pour cement for the foundation. Daddy smoothed and leveled it. Then we all took turns helping him with the blocks and mortar to make the walls for the basement.

Next he put in the base for the floor and the framework for the walls. The roof came after that and he finished it first by sealing it and laying shingles.

We put drywall up for the walls inside. We all got to choose the color for the paint in our rooms. Bedrooms were shared so the choice was by committee. We painted the walls ourselves. We helped with the painting in rooms that the whole family would use.

Mom and Daddy laid the hardwood floors all through the house.. After they were sanded and thoroughly waxed they were gorgeous.

Daddy installed the furnace, all the wiring, and all the plumbing. He did not have a license for all that so he had to pay inspectors who had licenses to look over what he had done and approve it. I still love that house and drive by it often.

He always had a workshop at home. When his grandchildren came along he made a little workshop for them right next to his. It was supplied with tools, scraps of wood, and nails and screws. They could go there any time and create little masterpieces of construction to their hearts' content. It is a fond memory for all of them.

Every year my parents planted a garden. Daddy did the digging and helped with the planting but it was mostly Mom's. But Daddy had his favorite sections that he cared for.

He made a terraced bed for strawberries. He built a square wooden frame and filled it with soil. On top of that he built a smaller square frame and filled that with soil. He repeated that until the top tier was there. It was about 2 square feet. They could harvest a lot more strawberries that way.

He also planted grapes. Everywhere we lived Daddy planted grape vines. I think he secretly hoped to have enough grapes to make a little homemade wine. But I do not recall any of them actually bearing fruit.

He liked fruit trees too. He planted fruit trees and they were successful in providing us with fruit. Mom was able to make pear butter and apple butter. We had canned peaches and pickled crab apples. Yum.

He also tried his hand at raising roses. He hoped to get a new type that he would name the Rhonda Rose after his first granddaughter. My niece died when she was 8 years old and Daddy was devastated.

Daddy was artistically creative as well. He loved to draw. He did not have a wide range of subjects but what he drew was quite good. His favorite thing to draw was winter trees. I loved them.

He took a couple of pieces of scrap wood at work and began to play around with epoxy. Whenever he had free time he went back to them. He made a ship with sails on each piece of wood.

After the epoxy set he stained his creations. It added an antique look to them.

At home he made beautiful frames for them. Once they were framed they went up on the wall.He received a lot of compliments and most people did not know that he began by doodling on a couple of scraps of wood.

I still have those pictures. My brother had to help repair the frames but otherwise they are just like Daddy left them.

Charisma

I wish you could have known my father. You would have liked him. Everybody did.

He was my father but he was more than just the man who helped my mother give birth to me. He was my dad but he was more than the man who helped to raise me and saw to my needs. He was my daddy.

I know that it sounds strange to hear a woman of my age refer to her father as Daddy. It is my special name for the special man in my life.

From my first memories of Daddy I could see that people were drawn to him. He was a charismatic man. He was so at ease with people and that made them feel at ease too.

Daddy could talk to anybody. He was not a conversation hog but he loved to talk. He liked the interaction with others. It was one of the things my mother admired about him.


Daddy had this lopsided smile. It looked a little rakish. What an old-fashioned word. But that describes it perfectly. Just a bit cocky and more than a bit friendly.

All of us inherited that lopsided smile. Most of our children did and so on.

Many of us have that gift of gab. Some even got a bit of the charisma.

I have a picture of him on the wall across from where I am sitting. He is looking at me with that lopsided smila and I feel the same comfort I did when he was alive.

Besides being so charismatic Daddy was strong. Physically strong. Mentally strong. Emotionally strong. We knew we could rely on him.

So did the people who worked for him. Daddy was greatly admired at work as well as at home.

It was a Good Friday when Daddy died. He was a strong healthy man. A sudden massive heart attack took him from us.

The men where he worked demanded the day of his funeral off so they could attend.

It was a gloriously beautiful day. They could have gone boating or had a barbeque. But every last one of them came to see my father one last time.

The funeral home had to borrow chairs from the church for extra seating. Even then there was not enough room for everyone inside. The procession to the cemetery was long.

Daddy felt deeply about honoring the dead. Memorial Day for instance was special for him. Veterans Day was special.

So he would have been proud of all the workers, family, neighbors, and friends who thought enough of him to say goodbye.

Daddy was the head of our whole family. We were happy that he was. My youngest son is fond of saying, "That is the reason that picture of him is hanging in every single house." It is true. We all have at least one.

I wish you could have known Daddy. You would have liked him. Everybody did.

Dear Daddy

Dear Daddy,

It is just after Father's Day. I want to write to you to tell you how much it has meant to have you for a father but I am having a hard time trying to find words.

You always made me feel like I was the most special person in the world. I was the little girl you wanted. You were always there for me.

I remember when my class took a roller skating outing. You went along as a chaperone. I did not know how to skate and was afraid of falling. I was also afraid that everyone would laugh at me. So there I stood against the wall looking as sorrowful as could be. You went to a couple of my friends and talked them into taking me for a couple of turns around the rink. You never admitted that you did that but I know you did.

You chaperoned a lot of things for all of us kids. Mom was always busy with a baby and housework so you made the time to do the un-fun things.

I still talk about the Sunday drives in the country that we used to take. You would drive slowly and point out things of interest like a squirrel or a sumac plant. Those drives are probably my favorite childhood memory.

After I was grown and had my own children you loved them so much. It made me feel overwhelmingly happy to watch you with them. You treated them just like you treated us only with that extra little bit of love only Grandpa can give.

Sometimes being a grown-up became tiring for me. That was when I would go to you. I could feel you emotionally let me sit on your lap and be your little girl for a few minutes. I always felt better and could go back to being an adult without the weights on my shoulders that I had before. It was such a luxury.

Every one of your children and grandchildren adored you. You were the rock that our family stood on. My youngest son once commented that that was the reason every single house of a member of our family has your picture prominently displayed so anyone visiting could see it.

I had a friend who asked me what I would say to you if I had another chance. I told him that there was nothing. He was shocked. He had a great many things left unsaid to his father. I gently explained that you knew how much I love you and I knew hown much you loved me. Nothing else needs to be said.

Before your funeral the minister asked if there was anything specific we wanted him to say. I told him that I wanted everyone to understand how much you loved us and how much we loved you. He was so moved that he cried during the service.

We also knew how respected you were by others. How proud we all were.

I miss you every day in little ways and big.

Love, Emma

The Cop

Daddy was the town marshal of our little bitty town. That meant he was also in charge of sewage, trash removal, fire chief, animal control, etc. In fact the only thing he wasn't was the mayor.

One of his duties was to blow the noon whistle. That whistle notified everyone in town that it was lunch time. All the stores and other businesses closed for lunch.

It was more of a siren than a whistle but that is what we called it. We went home for lunch from school. If we got to the fire station in time Daddy might let us blow the whistle.

It was easy to do. All you had to do was flip the switch just like a light switch. Then you would wait until the sound hit its crescendo and flip the switch back down. The sound would gradually slow and die. It was such a thrill.

The firehouse held most of the city offices. Daddy's office was there. The jail was there too. During the school year classes often made the several block long walk to the firehouse for a tour. We would be treated to explanations of what was what by my father.

When we got to the jail we were encouraged to enter the cell (yes, just one) to examine it. Then Daddy would slam the door shut and we were locked in. After good-natured laughter by Daddy and the teacher we would be released to go back to school.

Often while he was on patrol Daddy would find a treasure. He would rush home and have us check his shirt pocket. Inside might be a baby rabbit or kitten. If we could not talk Mom into letting us keep whatever it was Daddy would take it away. What we did not know was that he would have to euthanize it. There were no facilities for keeping animals.

One time he found a stray dog. Mom said no. Daddy took it to do his duty. When he came home again he had the dog.

He claimed that he had shot and buried it. When he got back to the fire station the dog was waiting for him. Oddly enough there was no sign of any wound. It must have been a fast healer. We kept it for a while but it ran off again as many stray dogs do.

Homecoming was the biggest day of the football season. People who had attended our school came back to root for the team along with the rest of us. There were pep rallies and bon fires all designed to whip the team into a winning frenzy. And there was a parade.

There were floats made of tissue paper and chicken wire on flat trailers that were pulled by tractors. A Homecoming King and Queen rode floats with their attendants. The mayor waved and smiled at everyone. For a little town that was only about three blocks long it was quite a celebration.

The fire chief had the big shiny red new fire truck all cleaned and waxed and it was a part of the parade. As the children of the fire chief we got to sit on top of the fire hoses and ride that truck in the parade. It was a great time to be a child, especially with the town marshal for a father.

In The Closet

My parents bought the house they were living in. It had been a three family home so they did a lot of remodeling to make it a home for one family. They knocked out walls between two small bedrooms on the first floor to make a gigantic living room. And there was a door that had been sort of between the bedrooms and the living room. It led to a large closet.

My parents used this closet to hang coats, jackets, and sweaters. Shoes and boots were kept on the floor. Christmas decorations and other things that were not used all the time were stored in the closet. It was an old house so there was no light in the closet.

My family and I spent a lot of time at my parents' house. My children liked being at Grandma's where the food always tastes better. And at Grandpa's because he always found something fun for them to do. My husband felt like he could relax which was not something he often did. I just enjoyed the feeling that comes with being around family.

It was a natural move that my children and I would stay there while I waited for my third baby. My husband had a new job out of state and I was too close to having the baby to be able to safely travel. My husband was able to join us every weekend.

On one side lived an older couple and the woman's brother. They were nice people who kept to themselves. On the other side was a young family with four little girls. The youngest girl was about the same age as my second son.

One day my boys were outside playing. The youngest was with the little girl playing in her yard. My mother was not home and I was enjoying some quiet time in the house.

My three year old son came rushing into the house and made a bee-line for the closet and shut the door!

I was sitting there wondering what on earth he was doing. It was amusing the way he rushed in. Then there was a firm knock on the front door. I answered it.

There stood the neighbor who lived on the other side of the little girl's family. He was holding a mudball that was about the size of a soccer ball. He looked like he was offering it to me. I did not want it.

"Is that little blonde kid yours?" I said that he was. "Well he and the little girl next door just threw this at my bathroom window!" Again offering me the mudball. I still did not want it.

I asked him if the window was broken. That was not the point but no it was not broken.

I looked over at his house and sure enough there was a big spot that had obviously been made by a big ball of mud. I assured him that I would talk to my son and make sure nothing like that ever happened again.

He became totally outraged. Sherry (the little girl next door) had been with my son. When the man confronted her parents, they grabbed her and spanked her. He wanted my son punished too. I told him firmly that I was not going to spank my child in front of him just to make him happy. I would take care of it but in my own way. He was still sputtering as I closed the door.

I then had my son come out of the closet. I explained that we do not throw mud at people's windows. Then we went together to the man's house. I had my son apologize and offer to clean the window. The man declined.

I have told you before that my mother was a resourceful woman. Well she decided to collect returnable pop bottles. She would turn them in once a week to collect the deposit on them and put the money in a special bank account. It kept the neighborhood cleaner and she was getting an extra bit of cash. She was going to buy a car with it.

And buy a car she did. It was a used model that needed a paint job but it ran good. She painted it herself with some spray paint she had. It was fluorescent blue paint and the car glowed in the dark.

One night a police helicopter noticed the glow and came down to investigate. They were astounded and amused.

So Mom had her car. After a few months she began to complain that it was making a "chirping" noise. Daddy drove it around the block and heard nothing. As time went on Mom said the noise was getting worse.

On a Saturday Mom was going to the grocery store. I was sitting in a chair feeling huge and bloated awaiting the imminent birth of my third child. Mom said the chirping noise was getting worse and worse so Daddy told her that when she came back from the store she should honk the horn. Then he would go to the front door and she could move the car back and forth so he could listen.

After about an hour and a half we heard the horn. Daddy sat there. I told him that Mom was honking for him so he heaved that put-upon sigh that he had and went to the door.

Mom was driving forward, then backing up so he could hear the noise. A look of horror came over Daddy's face. He turned from the door. On his way to the closet he said, "I just can't stand watching your mother try to park the car." Into the closet he went and closed the door.

I was still laughing uncontrollably when Mom came in to see where he went.

Eventually they knocked out the wall in the closet to make an entrance to the rooms that my parents were going to use as their room. I miss the closet.

Not Just A Girl

I have always been grateful to my parents because they never, not one time, told me there was anything I could not do because I was a girl. I was encouraged to try anything (as long as it was fairly safe) and praised when I tried.

My grandmother used to tell me that after I became fourteen years old I would no longer be able to 1. wear shorts, 2. tie my fathers shirt at the waist when I wore it, 3. go barefoot, and a variety of other nonsense. My parents didn't directly contradict her to me. They only showed me by example that I could do whatever I felt I had the capability to do.

Naturally I was considered a tomboy because I liked playing with the boys. But I liked to play dress-up and have tea parties too. Naturally I got into a lot of trouble too.

As it is with a lot of large families some of my aunts and uncles were very close in age to me. I followed them all over the place. A couple of my brothers were there too.

The boys decided it was a fun thing to catch snakes. Not to be outdone I caught snakes too. It wasn't until much later that I realized I had caught all the snakes. Those boys were as scared as I was but I was the one stupid enough to show them that I was not afraid.

Volleyball was the acceptable sport for girls in the schools I attended. One school I went to had a really good volleyball team. I loved playing there. Our team was undefeated for several years. That included tournament games. We were good.

I played softball and football with the boys. Not at school. That would not have been allowed. I went to one school where the boys and girls even entered the building through separate doors, for goodness sake. No fraternizing with the opposite S.E.X. To this day I have not figured out how several of the girls got pregnant (pardon me, became with child) under those circumstances.

When I was in high school I took courses to prepare me for college. I had English classes, science classes, math classes, civics classes, swimming, pep club, chorus, band, modern dance, gymnastics, and team sports. It looks like a lot when I look at the list but it was spread over several years.

The one class I was not able to take was calculus. Why not, you might well ask? Does being a girl sound familiar? I was a girl and what on earth would a girl ever need with calculus? I was shocked. I had never been restricted in that way before. I went to the proper authorities but they all had the same opinion. So I do not have calculus on my resume.

So, well before Women's Lib became a cause my parents let me follow my interests no matter what other people thought should limit me because I was female. I am thankful every day that they allowed me to become a strong individual.

My Dad

What can I say about my father? He was the most important man in my life. I adored him. Like all little girls my first love was my daddy. That is the yardstick we use to measure all other men, especially in choosing a father for our children.

I was a teenager before I realized that my father was not perfect. I also realized that he was so close to being perfect that the imperfections did not matter.

Daddy was born into a family of 11 children. He and his slightly younger brother were what was called "change of life babies" because their mother was older when they were born. Most of the older siblings were already gone from home.

It was a dysfunctional family. My grandmother was a cold woman who found it hard to care for anyone. I do not know the reason why or if there was one. Daddy loved her though.

His father was a heavy drinker.... sort of the town drunk. He worked as a brakeman for the railroad. My father always had a fascination for trains and had them for the boys to play with all the time.

The older siblings were gone from home. They could not wait to get away from the turmoil. Most of them moved far away and seldom came back for a visit.

I know very little about Daddy's childhood. I know where he was born and some of the places he lived when he was growing up. I know that once there was a terrible flood that destroyed their home and everything in it. That is about it.

Apparently Grandpa's drinking was a problem for Daddy. One day my father came home and found his father drunk again. They had a terrible argument. Daddy told him that he was through getting in fights to defend his father. Then Daddy left the house and joined the Navy.

World War II was in full swing so it did not take long for him to be sent to the Pacific arena. We do have a picture that he had taken somewhere in California before he shipped out. On the back he wrote "To the best Mom in the world".

Daddy was a gunner's mate first class, whatever that is. He told us very little about his experiences in the war. I do know that his ship engaged the enemy more than once. One time they were on radio silence for days. That menat no communication at all with the outside world.

When the silence was finally lifted he was notified that his father had died. It was too late for him to go home for the funeral. His last interaction with his father had been an argument. I know it hurt him for the rest of his life.

Daddy got the required tattoo of a sailor. Apparently it was a naked lady on his upper arm. He could make her dance by flexing his muscles. When they married my mother told him he needed to cover that lady because they wanted children and her children were not going to look at a naked lady on their father's arm. He went back to the tattoo parlor and had clothes put on his lady.

When the war was over he went home, met my mother, they were married. they were happy to find out that they would be having a baby soon after. My parents turned out to be very fertile.

Daddy wanted a daughter. He had come back from the war with a kimono for his wife and one for his daughter. I was the daughter he wanted and I have always felt very special because of that. 

My father is proof that a person can rise above a bad childhood. He was a loving family man. He truly enjoyed his wife and children and we all knew that. He showed it in so many ways every day.

That is not to say that he did not make mistakes. I guess when I was a baby I was crawling around with no diaper on. It was believed that fresh air helped prevent diaper rash. Anyway I bumped the table where his glass of iced tea was sitting and spilled it. He had a terrible temper and swatted my bare behind before he realized what he was doing.

When he saw the red mark left by his hand he vowed to never hit any of his children again. There were a couple of times that he went back on his word but we usually deserved a lot more that the smack we received.

My father never seemed to find his "home" as far as where we lived. He was always looking for that place over the hill and far away. We moved a lot. I went to 10 different schools before I graduated from high school. And that is not counting the times we lived somewhere only during the summer.

Most of the places we lived were in Nebraska. We lived on farms and in small towns. If we stayed in a town for any length of time we moved to different houses. We kept looking for the place that was his.

One summer we moved to a dairy farm outside Spokane, Washington. I loved it there. We lived at the top of a mountain. The only employee of the farm who lived as high up as us was a man who lived in a small mobile home nearer to the barns.

Evergreen trees covered the mountain. We could run and play in the trees to our hearts' content. And we did. My brothers got caught smoking up there one day. They were made to smoke cigarettes until they got sick. It did not stop them from smoking when they got older. Pobably did not stop them then.

The Spokane River was at the bottom of the hills and across the highway. We used to go fishing almost every day.

Daddy got very sick while we lived there. He had the Asian flu. The doctor said to keep all of us away from him. Daddy was put into the boys room. Mom had to take all his meals to him even though he could hardly keep anything down. She had to take care of all his needs plus care for all of us. Poor thing.

It seemed like he was in that room forever. He was so sick. And we were not allowed in there at all. He had never been sick before. It was a little scary.

Finally he began to get better. Sometime after that we were allowed to visit him for a few minutes only. No touching and no getting too close. He looked so thin and weak. It was hard to see him like that. Eventually he recovered and was good as new.

It was a happy day when my grandparents arrived. They moved there with my youngest aunt and two uncles. Grandpa had a job at the dairy farm too. They lived about halfway down the hill from us. My aunt raised worms for us to use for fishing. What she did was keep the soil under a big rock loose. She put coffee grounds in it every once in a while. We had plenty of worms for fishing.

The owner and his wife lived in a big fancy house at the bottom of the hill. The wife had three big bulldogs. They were her babies and she spoiled them rotten. Everyone laughed at her because when she took them for a walk to "do their business" she carried clean white cloth hankies to wipe them afterward.

The owner died at the end of the summer. His wife sold the dairy farm. We packed up and moved back to Nebraska.

Daddy always found work. He often worked as a farm hand. One time he was on the back of the tractor while the farmer backed up to get near enough to a piece of machinery that Daddy could hook it up. Somehow Daddy got his foot between the hitch on the tractor and the tongue of the machinery. He broke his foot and the farmer had to replace him.

For  a few years he worked for a house mover. People would own a house and buy new land to put it on. It was the responsibility of the house movers to get it there safely. We sometimes got to go watch them if they were driving near enough to home. One time they were close and we drove out to watch.

Daddy and another man had long poles with a "V" at the ends. They had to hook the utility wires and lift them so the house could roll safely beneath them.

While they were holding the wires up Daddy was waving to us and maybe showing off a bit. They rolled that house right over his foot! Thank goodness for those old dusty dirt roads. His foot sank far enough into the dust that all he got was a bruised foot.

After a severe car accident and long recovery Daddy got some training. He was able to get a job as a foreman on the night shift in a factory.  He loved his job. But the factory was experiencing financial diffficulties and they shut down the night shift. They told him they wanted him to stay on as an hourly employee but he declined.

I had my first son before this. I wanted my father to see his grandson but we lived so far away then. I finally saved enough money so I could take the bus with my baby and visit my family. Of course Daddy was proud to be a grandfather.

When it was close to time for me to go home to my husband Daddy told me that he would drive me. He and my mother had decided to move again. They moved to the big city that I was living in.

Daddy found a job almost right away. He was a foreman at a chemical plant. He and my mother actually bought a house. He found his place. He was so happy there.

The plant manager who was also an owner decided to retire. My father was made plant manager. He was liked and respected by the men who worked there. He was a very likable man. Most people liked him immediately.

One Good Friday a friend and I went shopping for Easter. My husband insisted that I take his beeper so he could contact me. I took it but I turned it off. I do not like being so connected. When we were done shopping my friend dropped me off at home.

When I went inside no one was home. In a few minutes my friend called me and told me my husband and children were at her house. They wanted me to come on over. I decided to stay home. It was quiet for a change. She insisted and said she was on her way to pick me up.

When we got to her house my husband finally worked up the courage to tell me that my father had died of a massive heart attack. I wanted to see that my mother was alright so we went to their house.

There were arrangements to be made. Several of us kids went with her. When she was picking out his coffin she was having a hard time deciding between two. One was a nice hardwood  and the other was a metallic gray. Both were nice. Mom said she kept being drawn back to the metallic gray one and could not understand why. When I gently told her it was because it was the exact color of a suit she had given him for Christmas when I was a little girl she smiled and chose that one. She loved that suit because she said it went so well with his blue eyes.

Daddy put great stock in honoring the dead. Visits to the cemetery and keeping graves looking nice were a must. And attending funerals was a way to show respect.

The chemical company was a union plant. When someone died the union would send a delegation to show respect. That is what they did when Daddy's predecessor died.

When Daddy died all the workers in the plant demanded the day off to attend his funeral. The plant finally realized they would have to close for the day.

It was a beautiful spring day. Much too nice to be indoors. Every last one of the men from the plant came to Daddy's funeral. They could have gone boating or anywhere else and they came to the funeral. The funeral home was so full of people they had people outside waiting to come in. He would have been so proud and touched. I know I was.

A Love Story

My aunt was dating my uncle. No, silly, they were not brother and sister. My uncle's older brother had just returned from serving in the Navy during World War II. My uncle wanted to show his brother a good time so he asked his girlfriend, my aunt, if she had a friend they could double date with. My aunt's best friend was her sister who agreed to the blind date.

The brother was a good-looking young man of 20. He was glad to be home after the horrors of war. He had an outgoing personality. People liked him immediately upon meeting him.

The sister was beautiful. At the age of 17 she had just graduated from high school at the very top of her class. She was shy but confident.

The two hit it off immediately and began to see each other regularly. My aunt and uncle eventually went their own ways and married other people. The brother and sister married each other and had a long and happy marriage. You have already guessed that the brother and sister are my parents.

My father worked as a truck driver for a time. As was the custom at that time my mother stayed home and took care of domestic things.

For their honeymoon they actually spent some time at my mother's family's farm. One day as an activity they decided to go hunting. I'll never know why because shooting was not something that interested Mom. It must have been love.

Anyway off they went. Mom had a shotgun, I don't know what kind of gun Daddy used. They had been gone for several hours before they came back. Daddy was carrying Mom. Somehow she had shot her self in the foot. She was not seriously injured but I can remember seeing her through the years picking a little BB of shot that would surface from her foot every once in a while.

Daddy was a sports fan. Again because she loved him Mom would watch or listen to and sometimes even attend a game. She soon because as avid a fan as he was. When we were older and had families of our own Mom would say, "You are welcome to come over for New Years Day (or most other holidays). I'll be cooking and there will be plenty to eat. Just don't get between me and the television while I'm watching football."

Daddy on the other hand never really understood why we did not live at home when we started our own families. He said there was plenty of room. He really did not understand it.

My parents had seven children. There were also 6 pregnancies that did not make it to term. Can you imagine a family of 13 of us?  I was the first. One year later came a brother, next year another brother, two years went by before I had my first sister. After another two years came another brother.

My youngest brother was getting ready to start school and was worried about who would take care of his mother while he was at school. My parents took care of that by giving us another sister. Then five years later our youngest brother was born. There are fifteen years between me and my youngest brother.

When my father came home from war he brought a kimono for his wife and a kimono for his daughter. He did not know about either of us at the time. He wanted a little girl and I was it. You can only imagine how special I have always felt because I was truly the twinkle in my father's eye.

Our parents loved us. there was never a doubt for any of us We didn't have a lot of things. Money was scarce. But time was spent with us and we always knew it was because they wanted to not because they had to.

A short time after my father died I dreamed that he came in the door at 4:00 like he did every afternoon. Only this time he had been gone for a long time. He was carrying a ditty bag like sailors carry.  I was so happy to see him that I threw my arms around his neck and held on for dear life. Everyone else in the family was looking on with their mouths open in shock.

All except Mom. She stood and stared for a while then she walked over and examined his neck (that I still had a lock on). She backed up to the wall, crossed her arms, and said, " I hope you know I spent all thst money." She was talking about his life insurance.

Of course she had not spent it all but that was my mom. She was practical and Daddy was more impulsive.

I was a little hesitant about telling Mom about my dream but I told her. She started to laugh. It turned out that she had dreamed about him recently too. He had come back and all she could think about was how she was going to repay what money she had spent for his funeral.

I hope you can understand what good parents I had and how lucky I was that I was their daughter. I used to hear my friends complain about how terrible their parents were. I truly never felt that way.