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Dad, around five years old, maybe 1929 or 1930.

Dad, around five years old, maybe 1929 or 1930.

My dad was born in 1924.  As long as I’ve been alive that’s what we’ve been told.  Now suddenly, just here lately, he’s been insisting that he was born in 1925.  By all accounts, from what we’ve been able to look up in any records we’ve been able to find, his birth year is 1924. But we’re not going to tell him.

Dad and his sister Rose Marie, around 1934, give or take

Dad and his sister Rose Marie, around 1934, give or take

Dad (third from left), three of his siblings and his parents

Dad (third from left), three of his siblings and his parents

Most of my father’s life, before he met my mom, was as part of a struggling farm family. There were five children in the family, the age range between the oldest and the youngest being 20 years, and my dad was right in the middle of that.  The family didn’t have a lot, but they made the most of what they had. When my dad was finished with high school, he decided he wanted to go to college. He worked and went to college at the same time while also sending money home to his family to help them out. He was the only one in his whole family to graduate college.

It’s easy for me to see why my father was the workaholic he was. While I was growing up, Dad would go to work all day and then come home and work in the garden or yard until sundown, then come in for supper.  He didn’t relax much at all until he got much older.  But, growing up, Dad was exactly the same. He spent most of his growing up years working.  Times were hard and his family was poor. Dad’s sisters talked about a time one night when they were getting ready to fix supper and went to the pantry to see what they had to work with.

When the dinner bell rang, everyone gathered around the dinner table and were served cream peas and chocolate pie.  That’s it.  That’s what ingredients were in the pantry, and that’s what was for supper!

One of Dad’s sisters acquired an old record player and a record, which she played over and over constantly. There was only one song, and it was called “Yes, We Have No Bananas.”  Over and over, any time the sister was home.  One day their dad suddenly stood up and, without a word, walked into the sister”s room. He ripped the record off of the record player, opened the window, and through the record out. The record was ruined, and nobody had to listen to “Yes, We Have No Bananas” any more!

Not really sure what Dad is standing between, but I'm guessing it had something to do with whatever way he was working through college.

Not really sure what Dad is standing between, but I’m guessing it had something to do with biology class.

News ArticleNews ArticleDad’s grandfather was a very active guy, so much so that he actually died in front of a live audience. Back in the day, they wrote news reports very differently. Since Dad’s grandfather was apparently a politician of sorts, the newspaper printout was both a news article and an obituary. I included the article along with the photographs in this post because I find this old fashioned kind of news writing rather comical!

Why, only the day before, poor Grandpa had been “grubbing” on his farm!  What a sad way for such a “staunch Republican” to die — only to be hauled off from the meeting by the “undertaking parlor” to be prepared for burial.  A fun day was had by all!  

I’m not laughing at the fact that this man died, just more by the way the article was written. I’m guessing that’s just the way newspaper people wrote articles back in that day. It would be interesting to have been able to see the date of this article before it got worn off.

I’m not sure whether it was before or after college that Dad did his stint in the Navy. It was before he met my mom, and before he had started teaching. All I know is that once he finished college, he had a teaching certificate under his belt and later went on to teach and also was a school principal.  That is so laughable, since I recall a time when Dad told me that teaching junior high girls in Sunday school scared him.  Guess getting older makes one a little less bold.

Dad, at some point not long before he met Mom

Dad, at some point not long before he met Mom

I call this Dad's Ricky Ricardo look

I call this Dad’s Ricky Ricardo look

Eventually Dad met Mom and the mustache disappeared.  Wonder whose choice THAT was?

And then one day Dad married Mom -- doesn't she look happy and radiant?  No, I'm not blind -- it's called sarcasm

And then one day Dad married Mom — doesn’t she look happy and radiant? No, I’m not blind — it’s called sarcasm

The above picture was taken in January 1958, after my parents had been married a year-and-a-half.  In August of the same year,

File11 - Copy - Copy

Dad relaxed in the warm summer sun with my then three-month-old older brother, Dad’s first child.

Well, I thank you all for letting me take you on this stroll down Memory Lane. Actually, it’s more a memory thing for my dad, since I really wasn’t around for any of this part of Dad’s history.  And since today didn’t bring me any new pictures of Becca’s Precious Baby or Daniel’s Angel Baby, I had to fill in and work my way up to showing you SOMEbody’s baby!

Don’t forget!


Eight more shopping/crafting/planning days until The Love Boat sails in!  Be ready!

Have a blessed week!