The Son
You were the first, the oldest and loved beyond belief. I've
seen the velvet suit you wore as a young child, the long hair below your ears.
I only imagine your Mom fearful of shearing those first locks of golden
hair; a sign you were no longer that babe in swaddling clothes destined to come
into the world so fraught with angst and strife. But you survived amidst
the early storms of life as we all do. Time marches on despite the wind milling
clock or the protective blankets around us. Your clothes turned from
bleached flour sacks to velvet to knickers, then overalls, and of course the
Sunday best. Yes, there was always the seventh day to pause, refresh,
rejoice even though it started with a dose of castor oil.
You shared not only your Mother's Love, but you Father's too.
Though it was not velvet clothed, or full of hugs and kisses, it was a
new beginning; schooling, training for all years to come. Hard work was
the rule of the day. Each day began before dawn and often went well into
night. Were it winter or summer or spring or fall, the chores never went
untended. The agrarian life demanded the work and dedication in that
school your Father taught. It was hard, you were tough, yet a heart full
of soft. Thank goodness there was always that seventh day.
The Brother
Then along came Priss; oh my, oh my. I can smile now hearing
her side, not yours, for we share today the stories of times past, where you
were still the oldest and loved beyond belief, and cherished as each day she
would save the seat beside her on the school bus, but you would stand in the
door well with the driver all the way home! Little Sister, little Sister,
I love you Priss. She was Daddy's li'l girl, hair in curls, cute as a
button as only daughters can be; a father's delight.
You worked hard each day getting the milk from the cow to the
bottle, the eggs from the nest to the carton or the butter from the churn to
the mold as your Father and Priss carried all house to house along his route. You
played a giant part, little did you know, for that milk, those eggs and the butter
were bartered for a piano and lessons for Priss. Little did you know you helped
provide her vocation for life. There were too many years separating you to
start out being close, but time shortens the circle that binds all siblings,
for as an adult you put away childish things and grow close; so close.
Thank goodness there was always that seventh day.
The Warrior
What is worse in life; a Depression or a War? Though the
20's didn't Roar along Route 1 Mill Creek Road (Shattalon Dr.), nor did the
Depression take you to the soup line, but War hit home hard and had an
everlasting effect. The farm kept you home for a while, but deferments
fade when the battles become most fierce, and you spent your time carrying your
rifle, walking through France and Germany and finally Berlin. Sitting on the
porch swatting flies hearing tales, I asked about the places you stayed along
that trip, and you told about buildings now and again, but instead of a roof,
there were stars overhead; all was bombed and destroyed and the families had
fled. Watching a war movie one night, the troops were marching down a
road, and the civilians were going the other way with handcarts if they were
lucky, but usually only a sack on their back, you commented, "That's the
way it was. They retreated with everything they owned on their back." You
were in a headquarters company during that time, but wartime memories and
nightmares were the rule till the end of your days. The worry you showed
that night on the news, of a blockade around Cuba, and your son beside you.
Were we going to war again; would I have to go too? A year in your
life that affected you the most; thank goodness there was always that seventh
day.
The Husband
Then along came "Tchudder." I never ever heard you
call her name. It was "Tchudder" or "Honey" always to
her, and "Buddy" you were always to her. Devoted and loved, she never
complained. She was there for you and you for her. You gave her all
you had to give from beginning to end. Never a word of anger was spoken,
but love and laughter and smiles from you both are my memories of the life we
shared. Life was never extravagant, but need it be, when the most
precious thing in the world is Love for your mate. A treasure I found one
day in her "trunk of memories;" three letters you wrote to your
"Tchudder" before you married. It warmed my heart tears to see
the love you expressed. Lo and behold it was true and firm and fast all
your days. You worked hard your whole life and she saw how you slaved
between the barn and the fields and the house everyday, but she too shared your
faith. Thank goodness there was always that seventh day.
The Father
One day you awoke and there was me. These things happen.
You were the Son once upon a time. Now your life changes in so many
dimensions. A Father is a teacher and a mentor. All those lessons
you learned you now share and impart. Some do it wisely, some not, but my
memories are of a wise and wonderful man; even an idol. I followed you to
the fields and the barn where your agrarian love became mine. I cherished
the product of the labor, even to this very day. I cherished the love you
bestowed each and every way.
The stories you told as we sat swatting flies on the porch in
summer's night were filled with mirth; however there were wounds from a hard
childhood, wounds from a war, and wounds from life. You taught me love of
a good woman. You taught me love of a child. You taught me love of Life.
Thank goodness you taught me there was always that seventh day. My memories
are so many and so grand and every memory of you is a Cherished Memory of a
Father to a Son.
