I cannot describe my father without thinking of his hands. They were the hands of the farmboy he had been, bearing the marks of ploughing fields, sawing wood, milking cows. As the oldest boy (14) in a family of six children during the Great Depression, he assumed the duties of a man when his father died in 1932.
He grasped at any opportunity to "better himself" and to provide for his family. Working for the CCC (Civilian Conservation Corps), he sent home money to his widowed mother.
After serving in WWII, he went to school on the GI Bill. Sacrifice and hard work on both his and my mother's part allowed him to attend law school. His hands now turned themselves to working as a part-time cook. He obtained his law degree and earned a comfortable living, but his hands--and his heart--remained busy.
Though he could afford a few luxuries, he never sought them for himself. The idea of spending money on himself would have baffled him.
My hands have never sawed wood, ploughed a field, or milked a cow. Instead, they play the piano, work the computer, write books. Whatever I accomplish is due to the legacy of my parents who taught me early the value--and blessings--of hard work.
So, for today, I am grateful for my father ... and all the fathers who lead by love.
He was one of the kindest most selfless people in the world and I count my parents as one of the greatest in my life. I owe them so much! Carla
ReplyDeleteI was looking at a picture of grandpa today and remembering his smile and how happy he always was. He was a woderful man that set a great example of hard work and caring. Nick
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