It’s my father’s 104th birthday tomorrow. This takes precedence over Groundhog Day, and Super Bowl hype. Neither of which, my father cared two hoots about. Happy Birthday, Dad.
Today is Super Bowl Sunday, roman numeral, something or another. I was thinking, that today, was also your birthday. It’s a special birthday, too. Almost everybody, thinks they’d like to live to be a hundred. However, not many actually do.
Thirty-seven years later–I’m glad my older brother was such a shutterbug, and saved this picture of you. You’re seated in my dinky, two-room bachelor pad, wearing typical bib overalls, reading a magazine. I’m amazed there were enough chairs to seat everybody. This picture speaks of honesty, hard work, forthrightness–because, that’s the way you were.
You, mom, my brother, sister-in law, and nephew, sought shelter from a late-winter ice storm in 1978. Your electricity had been out for quite some time. The storm stayed to the north. I was happy to have some company. And, I may have cooked for everybody? My memory fails me on that point. But, that’s not important.
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