Bear Bait Mountain Tales, My Fathers Hands

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My father was a hard working man, we were never hungry but rice and rabbit got old. Chicken gizzards and home raised potatos were common as were collard greens and other garden items. Dad had a 3rd grade education, pleanty of common sense but was not up to date on the ways of the world. My earliest memories are of him working in a produce department of a local grocery at $27.00 per week. There was another side to him; every time the Christan Church doors were unlocked at Kentucky and 12th., St. Cloud, Fla he was there and so of course so was I. Thats why I do not attend any services today; attending was a dispised chore, not a choice. Dad never missed a funeral, that would have been like hugging the devil.

At about age 8 or so Dad changed jobs to delivering building materials, back in the days when there were no hydraulics or belts to convey items. Concrete blocks were hand unloaded, 8 pallets - 84 blocks per pallet, all moved by hand. Dads gloves were hard shiney leather, laced with the odor of prespriation to the point that to my young nose was totally revolting. Worse yet was the condition of his hands, finger prints worn away due to handleing abrasive material, broken or chipped nails, scars and scabs. Severe enough that I wondered how they could maintain flexability, or be able to turn the pages of his Bible.

He went on to working for the school maintance crew and then moved up to house building with his own license. He passed on many years ago; at the cemetary cars were parked one quarter mile in both directions. I do not believe I can ever fill the shoes he left, I will always remember his hands, I keep seeing them as I sit down at this keyboard.

-- mitch hearn (moopups@citlink.net), January 16, 2002

Answers

Thank you for sharing.

cli ck here

-- Charleen in WNY (harperhill@eznet.net), January 16, 2002.


Mitch, your father sounds like a very nice man, they worked so hard back then, It was the depression years for sure. And some of that eating, chicken and rice,gizzers, collard greens, I sure hope your still eating that. thats real food. What a beautiful memory. God bless Irene

-- Irene texas (tkorsborn@cs.com), January 16, 2002.

Mitch, that was very touching to read. Thats the best i can do at telling you my appreciation for that. Thank you.

-- jillian (daffodil_skunk83@hotmail.com), January 16, 2002.

it made me think, "how many people today know what it is to work like that?" It's wonderful that you appreciate those things about him. BTW, here in the south, attending funerals is, I think, much about community and respect--I for one, am impressed that he made time to attend.

-- Ann Markson (tngreenacres@hotmail.com), January 17, 2002.

Very nice story Mitch.

-- Melissa (me@home.net), January 17, 2002.


And I think that you are very fortunate to have known such a person as that, mitch. Your father sounds like a great role model for all of us.

-- j.r. guerra (jrguerra@boultinghousesimpson.com), January 17, 2002.

Mitch, it sounds like our Daddies had something in common. Mine was raised on a farm during the depression, drilled oil wells for several years, worked carpentry, mechanics, you name it. Raised his two kids and took care of Mom, then along came me, raised me and put me through college. His right arm had been broken so many times it wasn't even straight any more, and the doctor told him one more time and he wouldn't have a choice, it would be surgery. His hands were rough and calloused, and I miss them. Nine months today.

-- Christine in OK (cljford@mmcable.com), January 21, 2002.

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