Remembering Dad of Father’s Day

    Father’s Day, and I want to write about my father. He has been gone 53 years so he missed all of the new discoveries. Dad died suddenly of a massive heart attack at age 62, and we didn’t get to talk together anymore. I wanted him to tell me so many things, especially more about when he and Mother were young. He did tell me about his job with the city when he was 18. It was when all of the street lights were gas lights and he, with a pony and cart, would ride up and down the streets putting out the gaslights.
    It was during the great depression that he taught us to be thrifty and save any money we would have. Money was so rare in our pockets that I’m sure it didn’t get saved. Dad was our barber and cut our hair, and the Sears Roebuck clippers weren’t the best, and often would pull one hair that wasn’t cut. I can’t explain how much that hurt.
    Dad was our shoe cobbler. It was a time when most people walked; teachers and students walked to school, people walked to town to do their shopping regardless of how far they lived from the business district. We would wear out the heels and the soles and Dad would repair them with Bulldog glue, a hammer, and nails to a metal foot form. When it was time that we HAD to have new shoes, he inspected them like a doctor ready to do surgery. They had to have extra space at the toe so we could grow into them.

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