When I was a little girl, I really, really wanted to be like dad. Perhaps it was because dads went off to work. Perhaps it was because dads, are, well dads are tougher than moms. Anyways, my dad was a challenge to me. I always did like a challenge.
Nobody at school ever asked, “What does your Mom do?” Everybody knew. Moms are moms; that’s what they do. Moms do stuff that make home homey: washing and folding laundry; sewing clothes; weeding gardens and canning vegetables; giving out jobs to kids; and making sure everybody minds their Ps and Qs and has good manners. Moms are there for kids.
Dads were different. Dads went off and did stuff nobody saw, only heard about. My best-friend-blood-sister Connie’s dad was a principal at a High School. My best-friend-from-the-bus, Betty’s dad worked in the Shop making Buicks. My friend Eddie’s dad was a farmer. My dad fixed people’s phones. That was the best job in the whole wide world. For one thing, everybody needs a phone, and for another thing, my dad got to meet all kinds of interesting people and see right inside their houses and their lives. AND my dad was a farmer, too. He got to spend a Continue reading