My dad was born one hundred twenty years ago tomorrow. This is the earliest picture I have of him, and I treasure it. I inherited a chair like this from my mom, and although it could be one from the same set, I like to think it’s the exact one.
So…..I COULD be over a hundred years old. But my dad was well into his fifties when I came along.
Dad was born in this sweet little house. It stood within a quarter mile of my childhood home. When I was in my early twenties, it was vacant, and one day I just stopped and snapped this picture. Not too many years later, it was destroyed by fire; perhaps caused by a lightning strike.
Dad died when I was eight months old, so I have no memories of him, just a few old family photos, such as this one of him and my mom as a young couple.
I especially like this picture. That old shed stood in the backyard of my childhood home, and my nieces, nephews and I played in there as children.
Mom told me she had this next photo “colorized” for me, so I would have a nice picture of my dad.
I’m sure, like all of us, he had his faults. But my mother never mentioned any. She only told me good things about him.
And although I don’t remember him, I never forget July 9.
~These Days Of Mine~