The picture is my father during WW-2. I looked a lot like his picture in my younger days.
I was watching a show on Netflix about a father and his sons. The sons could never do anything right in the father's eyes and he berated them for everything they did. That got me thinking about my own father. I cannot ever remember him saying anything good about me in my lifetime. I do remember many, many times when he made fun of me or told me I was making big mistakes or just made fun of me to my younger brother. This may sound strange to most people, but it is what happened.
I was conceived in Colorado while my father was in army training for overseas duty. The reason was to have a child which turned out to be me. What does that have to do with this story? I'll get back to that now. I was born when dad was still in Germany. The only time my father said anything nearly complimentary to me was about 15-18 years later when he said my being born put him higher on the list for coming home after the war. The army had this point system that calculated time in the field, marital status, children etc. Even with that he had to say he went over there on the fast ship "British Queen Mary" and came home on some slow moving scow. My mother told me after I left for the navy my father told her, "Your son is gone; he left you. My son is still here with me."
Why am I writing this? My father was a good man, he loaned money to everyone in the family and most of the time never got a nickel back. He helped family members. He always worked hard and took care of the family and filled the house with presents at Christmas for any and all that showed up. I was very much like him, maybe too much in my younger days, my early youth, but changed at some point. Nothing I could do was right to him, even when I was the only helping hand around the house. My other two brothers were more favorable to him. My father had a rough life, his father left or died when he was a very young child; he started supporting his mother when he was just 8 years old by selling sausages at night on the streets of Saint Louis. He spent time in the Civilian Conservation Corps during the depression and sent all his wages home to his mother. I cannot say he ever denied anyone in need. He had his thing about brands though; we never had any soft drinks but Pepsi, never had bread that was not "Tastee" brand and never any milk but "Quality Dairy." Once I was sent to the corner market for milk and I saw some "Adam's Dairy" milk and bought it because it had cowboys and horses on the label. I was sent back to exchange it. All that for one half-gallon of milk when we went through a gallon a day back then.
He did not want me to join the navy and did not want me to marry Joyce or anyone else because he thought I was not able to handle that or anything else. Oddly enough, when he wanted to leave Missouri for a warmer climate he wanted me to lead the way, and I did. He was a very mercurial man, over-bearing and his idea of being reasonable was "do it my way." We all did do it his way. As long as we did things his way he was happy. In summary, I loved him, but I did not always like him. He died and we all cried. After that we celebrated his life because mom said he would have liked it that way.
I was conceived in Colorado while my father was in army training for overseas duty. The reason was to have a child which turned out to be me. What does that have to do with this story? I'll get back to that now. I was born when dad was still in Germany. The only time my father said anything nearly complimentary to me was about 15-18 years later when he said my being born put him higher on the list for coming home after the war. The army had this point system that calculated time in the field, marital status, children etc. Even with that he had to say he went over there on the fast ship "British Queen Mary" and came home on some slow moving scow. My mother told me after I left for the navy my father told her, "Your son is gone; he left you. My son is still here with me."
Why am I writing this? My father was a good man, he loaned money to everyone in the family and most of the time never got a nickel back. He helped family members. He always worked hard and took care of the family and filled the house with presents at Christmas for any and all that showed up. I was very much like him, maybe too much in my younger days, my early youth, but changed at some point. Nothing I could do was right to him, even when I was the only helping hand around the house. My other two brothers were more favorable to him. My father had a rough life, his father left or died when he was a very young child; he started supporting his mother when he was just 8 years old by selling sausages at night on the streets of Saint Louis. He spent time in the Civilian Conservation Corps during the depression and sent all his wages home to his mother. I cannot say he ever denied anyone in need. He had his thing about brands though; we never had any soft drinks but Pepsi, never had bread that was not "Tastee" brand and never any milk but "Quality Dairy." Once I was sent to the corner market for milk and I saw some "Adam's Dairy" milk and bought it because it had cowboys and horses on the label. I was sent back to exchange it. All that for one half-gallon of milk when we went through a gallon a day back then.
He did not want me to join the navy and did not want me to marry Joyce or anyone else because he thought I was not able to handle that or anything else. Oddly enough, when he wanted to leave Missouri for a warmer climate he wanted me to lead the way, and I did. He was a very mercurial man, over-bearing and his idea of being reasonable was "do it my way." We all did do it his way. As long as we did things his way he was happy. In summary, I loved him, but I did not always like him. He died and we all cried. After that we celebrated his life because mom said he would have liked it that way.
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