124 years ago yesterday, my dad was born.
My family and most of my friends know that he died when I was just an infant. When I was born, my parents were older than the age most parents are when they welcome a new baby. They already had two teenage daughters when I came along.
My dad celebrated his last birthday here on earth when I was just a little over a month old.
So obviously, I have no memories of him. I have a few old family photos, but none of him holding me, and none of us in the same picture. (I hold out hope that someone in the family may have one, and that, someday, it will find its way to me.)
Daddy was born in this little house less than a quarter mile from my childhood home. This house was destroyed by lightning many years ago. Thankfully, I stopped in the driveway one day prior to that and snapped this picture.
This is the earliest photo of him that I have. Mom gave me a chair from this set; I like to think it’s the same one. If you look closely, you’ll see that he’s standing on grass. I was told that photographers would come around, offering to take photos for folks. They didn’t have ‘flash’ ability, so indoor photography was rare. People would bring chairs and other furnishings outside as props for the photos.
Although pictures from that era were usually black and white, Mom told me that she had this one ‘colorized’ for me, so I’d have a picture of my dad.
And somehow I happened to come across this photo.
Following a comment by my dear friend, Donna, I edited my post to add this photo of my mom and dad. I’m thankful to have a couple of photos of the two of them together.
From what Mom and others have shared with me through the years, Daddy was a quiet, hard working man.
Happy Birthday, Daddy.
~These Days Of Mine~
these days of mine 