Hell of a Guy

Home Alone…


The house is quiet, the cat lay in the chair opposite me fast asleep, The Nancy gone to her office for a while, and I am alone to my own devices.  The Sirius New Age station is beaming some soft, mood music throughout the house.  That is “mood” music, and not Muzak, as my son-in-law refers to my choice of musical genre.  I have time to think and to reflect, and that is good and not so good.

I have been trading emails with family members the past couple of days with memories of my father.  The 24th would have been his 106th Birthday had he not passed away Thanksgiving Day, 1997.  I have shared memories of my own, and received some from my “much older brother” and my younger brother, as well.  We have been spurred on by our children to share what we can.  I am personally thrilled by this, that younger members of this family want to know what their grandparents where like, and love it that I get to share the memories this is bringing to the forefront from deep in my brain.  Neat!  In this day of high tech communication, a screwed up economy, wacked out politicians and a hazy future, it is comforting to know family history still means something. 

My dad was soft-spoken and led a very simple life.  He dropped out of school because of necessity at a very young age.  While he lacked formal education, he had a knack for numbers.  He could do math computations in his head faster than most people could do on calculator.  His smile could light up a room, and he loved a good joke, even if it were a little off color.  I never heard him cuss or say a cuss word, though he did have his own words for things, like referring to people “fadumptyasials” or maybe saying “concarnit” when things didn’t go as they should.

I can remember visiting the basement in our house where he would be working on a project and asking him what he was doing.  His reply to questions like that was always, “I am building a layover to catch meddlers.”  I was too young to get it then, but now I know it was his way to tell me to go find something to do and leave him be.

Our dad was a pious man, but quiet about his love of God.  He was active in the church, a Presbyterian by birth and a Methodist by marriage.  His total and unconditional love for my mother could never be doubted.  And six months after her death he chose to join her and willed himself to be with her in eternity.  He was loyal to a fault, kind, considerate and while he had the prejudices of someone born at the turn of the 20th century, he would never have been unkind to anyone, ever.

Now, more than twelve years since his death, I can honestly say I still think of him every day, and miss him all the more.

And that is all I have to say about that…

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This was comforting and wonderful to read. Thanks,

Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)  on  03/20  at  06:34 PM

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