My dad was born on July 9, 1899. Seeing that date, most folks would probably expect me to be a good bit older than I am. But, my dad was in his 50’s when I was born. Sadly, he became ill and died when I was only eight months old.
So I never knew him. But Mom made sure I knew the important dates: his birthday, their anniversary, the day he died. I think about him especially on those days and wish he could have been a part of my life.
This is an old snapshot of the little house where my dad was born. It was destroyed by fire many years ago, but during my childhood, it was still standing less than a quarter mile from where Mom and I lived. I stopped in the driveway one day, opened my car door and snapped a picture. You can see my radio antenna in the picture.
I’m guessing Daddy was about three years old when this picture was taken. I have one of the chairs from that set…(perhaps this very one?), and had this picture enlarged and printed on canvas. That’s now hanging over the chair. My late cousin, Lona, gave me the original of this picture many years ago; my dad and her maternal grandmother were siblings. Her gift brought me to tears.
One of the few pictures of my Mom and Dad together. Date unknown, but probably long before I came along. She never told me one negative thing about him.
I love this picture of my dad mowing grass. In it are things that bring back so many memories: the old shed in the background, the driveway, that tree… but no memory of my dad….
And finally, Mom had this photo colorized after Dad died and told me she did that so I could have a nice picture of him.
So Happy Birthday, Daddy. Sure wish I could made some memories with you.
~These Days Of Mine~