Remembering My Dad

It’s sad in a way to remember my dad. I am the last in my family to remember him. I have 2 cousins who might remember him slightly but that is all. Well that is the way it is as one gets older.

My dad died young – he was only 57. And I was 12.

My father as a young man
My father holding me – that is what I have always thought this picture was – but upon reflection this could not be true as I was born in December (1936) and this picture would have been taken in front of the lilac bush in our back yard. A Spring or Summer picture. Probably my sister Nan born in April (1927)

That just shows you how memories and photographs can alter over time.

Nevertheless I’ll give you one very specific memory I have of my father. I was in 5th grade. My father and my sister Ruth and I went to a kennel out in the country (i.e. beyond Belmont Mass.) and we selected a puppy. You can imagine how cute and cuddly this little bundle of fur was. This little puppy, part Collie and part St. Bernard, wriggled in my arms as we drove home. She didn’t like the ride and managed to be sick in the car. When we got home my father tried to interact with her and get her to bark. My father kept tapping his foot to try to get some reaction – no luck. Needless to say, that little puppy did bark eventually – yes Duchess (for that was the name we gave her) part Collie, part St.Bernard had a good bark. She was the family dog and lived a full life for many years. Sadly my father only had 2 more years to live. He passed away in March of 1949. I was in 7th grade.

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