REMEMBERING MY FATHER

Look at the way his fedora is cocked as he stands to the side of his brood, those of us still living at that point (a baby, John, born between me (in my mother's arms) and my sisters had passed), the oldest of whom was on his way to WWII (he never made it to any action, thankfully, but no way my father could have known when this photo was taken) and the second older one (behind me) soon to follow (he was on Okinawa toward the end of the war).

My father was a seventh-grade drop out yet found a way to support this whole gang. Pretty impressive dad. No, I mean Very impressive dad. Sorry I never told you that while you were still here.