Dad

My earliest memories of my father were when he worked as an electrical lineman down in the bayous of south Louisiana. He is and always has been a very hard worker. He was raised that way by his own father who died before I was born.

Dad once said that when he was a teenager that he and papa were digging long trenches by hand to lay sewer lines across several acres of property out in the country where they lived. Dad said to papa with an exhausted voice, "they make machines that can help us to do this." Surprisingly he didn't get smacked. Papa replied, "We have our own two hands and each other. We can do what we set our minds to do." Those were tough and loving words that help to explain my father and the way he is today.

Back to the memory, I remember that Dad would get up at a VERY early hour to start his day. He worked nearly all the time. Long before sunrise I would hear him running his bath and afterwards he would shave. Knowing this was my only opportunity to talk to him I would sit on the edge of the tub and watch him shave. I remember that my feet barely reached the floor and we would share whatever was on our minds. Those few private minutes everyday were very special to me.

I wouldn't say we are close now. So much water under that bridge. But he's a good man and I love him. And today I plan to remind him so.