Monday, January 28, 2008
My dad would've been 82 today. Perhaps if he hadn't smoked at least a pack a day for 50+ years, he'd still be around. I wish he'd known my Poodledoc, Jr better. He would have liked my dog. But he died on my birthday in 2002.
He grew up on a farm south of Omaha, NE, the youngest of 5 kids. He had a pony and several dogs that he cherished. In high school, he contracted polio and spent a number of months in an iron lung. He worked hard at his physical therapy and recovered. Then graduated from high school in 1944. The Navy drafted him immediately, even though he'd spent all that time with polio, and sent him off to the middle of Idaho to get trained. I guess there was a lake there, or something. Then they realized that he was still too weak from polio, and after three weeks of "doing nothing but card-playing", sent him back home to work on the farm. This left him as one of the few remaining young men on the "home front". Since there was such a farm labor crunch, they'd "obtain" German POW's to work the farm. Sit at the table and eat. Eat lots.
Anyway, I miss him. He tried to be the best dad he could be to me. He drove taxi cab and one of my fondest memories was as a boy, about 8 years old, riding along with him on Friday nights.