100 Years

 

 

 

Today would have been my father's 100th birthday. We always went to my parents' house on Christmas Eve. He once confided that he wished it could be on another day because his celebration was lost in the Christmas rush. I always gave him two gifts, and we always had a cake with candles. When he was a child he must have felt cheated.

My dad was the kind of person who was constantly busy. He was a machinist/mechanic, and  I used to brag that he could fix anything--and he could. He worked hard all of his life, often coming home in clothes so dirty that my mom had to wash them in a tub outdoors first. Most of his jobs were in the great ships on the Mississippi River down in the engine rooms where it was dark, hot, greasy, noisy , and  confined. There were times when he worked in stretches that went on for days without him coming home. His job was not guaranteed, and he only worked when the company secured a ship that needed repair. As a child I would often see him looking worried and distant because he knew the jobs were scarce, and his was the only income.

He retired at 65 years of age in the month of December and died of a stroke in the month of February of the next year.

He was a good man who provided for his family--sent my brother and me to college, loved animals and children, and was a great husband.

My love of animals and the outdoors came from him. He always took us on walks in the woods and taught us about it as we went. Fishing, crabbing, hiking, we did a lot of outdoor activity. He also made toys and taught us games.

The last photo is of him and my older son on our bicycle. None of us wore helmets then, and my dad hopped on to give him a ride.

Happy Birthday, Dad. I still think of you everyday.