debodun
SF VIP
- Location
- way upstate in New York, USA
Written by my mother's youngest brother, probably in the 1960s. Found amongst papers in my grandmother's house. I have corrected spelling, grammar and punctuation.
On my family tree there should be a large limb with the name of my father. He is gone now and, except for the few of us who knew him, the mark he made upon the earth will soon vanish with the sands of time.
My father was a do-it-yourself man because there was no other way to get the work done. In order for him to carry out all his projects, he had to have a ready supply of wood on hand. This led to my appointed, dignified position of “Caretaker of the Woodpile”. For some fifteen years I stacked, re-stacked, moved and re-moved that woodpile from one side of the yard to the other. It couldn't be left in any one place because it was either not close enough to a new project or too far away. It got so I knew every piece of wood by name.
The chicken business Pa got into is but one of his outstanding ventures to which I must give due credit. I never found out how much money was made, but if there is a hundred ways to cook a chicken, my mother knows it, and I had the finest collection of chicken heads in town.
Today everyone is trying to put someone into orbit and it reminds me of the time Pa tried to send me. He sent me down to the cellar to clean it up a little. I tipped over a five-gallon can of paint he was getting ready to use. They talk about rocket thrust we got today - well maybe the old man didn't have that much in one foot, but when he gave me a swift kick in the can, I went up the cellar stairs and halfway to the garage. After about twenty minutes of lecturing on what an ungrateful wretch I was, he chucked me back down cellar by means of a well-placed boot.
The old man liked to fish, so he got the idea of building a boat and decided the best way to build it under cover was to build it in the front upstairs bedroom. He built the boat all right, but when he tried to get it out, he found the window he had measured it for was not the one out of which it should have been taken. He didn't know whether to cut down the sides of the boat or the side of the house, but when the smoke cleared, the boat was on the front lawn.
I don't remember how he got the boat to the river because we didn't have a car, but I do remember the neighbors watching Pa start off down the road with the motor in a wheelbarrow.
One day I was eating soup fast, like kids do, when my father told me I was eating like a pig. For once I thought I had the right answer so I told him, “A hog's a pig's father.” and he promptly tried to put me in orbit for the second time. I would have made it, too, if I hadn't hit the piano on my way.
By the time I reached high school, my oldest brother and my sister had graduated and other brother and I had to do their share of the chores. When he graduated, I got his share. I brought this up to Pa one day. This country should have a diplomat like him, for when our discussion was finished, I had the same chores, but with no pay. I guess Pa figured it was not mine to question why, but mine to do or die.
One day he told me to dig a can of worms for him. At that time, the ground was so hard you couldn't dent it with an ax. I didn't want Pa to try to put me in orbit again, so I collected soda bottles and went to town and bought a can full from the bait man with the deposit money. This gave me an idea, so I decided to go into the bait business, which I did the following spring.
Right after school got out I got a call from the bait man. I was ready for my big killing, so I went down in the cellar to get my worms. Instead of finding a couple thousand there were only a few dozen left. Pa had been using my worms all spring. When he came home from work, I was waiting for him. This was the last time Pa tried to drop kick me over the garage. I fell short about three feet.
To say the old man was strong is nothing; to see him come up the road with a telephone pole over his shoulder is another. I remember one day, Bill, our neighbor, had a bolt to get off his car. He called the old man over to give it a try. Bill was a pretty strong fellow himself and he thought if he couldn't get it off Pa couldn't either. Pa didn't get the bolt out, but he did break Bill's best wrench in half.
After I graduated and was married, Pa started to fail and he just faded away. He used to tell my wife and me that if he didn't die damn soon, he would be a hell of a looking corpse. His day came and he passed away, but then maybe the Big Man thought Pa worked hard all his life so He gave him a rest.
On my family tree there should be a large limb with the name of my father. He is gone now and, except for the few of us who knew him, the mark he made upon the earth will soon vanish with the sands of time.
My father was a do-it-yourself man because there was no other way to get the work done. In order for him to carry out all his projects, he had to have a ready supply of wood on hand. This led to my appointed, dignified position of “Caretaker of the Woodpile”. For some fifteen years I stacked, re-stacked, moved and re-moved that woodpile from one side of the yard to the other. It couldn't be left in any one place because it was either not close enough to a new project or too far away. It got so I knew every piece of wood by name.
The chicken business Pa got into is but one of his outstanding ventures to which I must give due credit. I never found out how much money was made, but if there is a hundred ways to cook a chicken, my mother knows it, and I had the finest collection of chicken heads in town.
Today everyone is trying to put someone into orbit and it reminds me of the time Pa tried to send me. He sent me down to the cellar to clean it up a little. I tipped over a five-gallon can of paint he was getting ready to use. They talk about rocket thrust we got today - well maybe the old man didn't have that much in one foot, but when he gave me a swift kick in the can, I went up the cellar stairs and halfway to the garage. After about twenty minutes of lecturing on what an ungrateful wretch I was, he chucked me back down cellar by means of a well-placed boot.
The old man liked to fish, so he got the idea of building a boat and decided the best way to build it under cover was to build it in the front upstairs bedroom. He built the boat all right, but when he tried to get it out, he found the window he had measured it for was not the one out of which it should have been taken. He didn't know whether to cut down the sides of the boat or the side of the house, but when the smoke cleared, the boat was on the front lawn.
I don't remember how he got the boat to the river because we didn't have a car, but I do remember the neighbors watching Pa start off down the road with the motor in a wheelbarrow.
One day I was eating soup fast, like kids do, when my father told me I was eating like a pig. For once I thought I had the right answer so I told him, “A hog's a pig's father.” and he promptly tried to put me in orbit for the second time. I would have made it, too, if I hadn't hit the piano on my way.
By the time I reached high school, my oldest brother and my sister had graduated and other brother and I had to do their share of the chores. When he graduated, I got his share. I brought this up to Pa one day. This country should have a diplomat like him, for when our discussion was finished, I had the same chores, but with no pay. I guess Pa figured it was not mine to question why, but mine to do or die.
One day he told me to dig a can of worms for him. At that time, the ground was so hard you couldn't dent it with an ax. I didn't want Pa to try to put me in orbit again, so I collected soda bottles and went to town and bought a can full from the bait man with the deposit money. This gave me an idea, so I decided to go into the bait business, which I did the following spring.
Right after school got out I got a call from the bait man. I was ready for my big killing, so I went down in the cellar to get my worms. Instead of finding a couple thousand there were only a few dozen left. Pa had been using my worms all spring. When he came home from work, I was waiting for him. This was the last time Pa tried to drop kick me over the garage. I fell short about three feet.
To say the old man was strong is nothing; to see him come up the road with a telephone pole over his shoulder is another. I remember one day, Bill, our neighbor, had a bolt to get off his car. He called the old man over to give it a try. Bill was a pretty strong fellow himself and he thought if he couldn't get it off Pa couldn't either. Pa didn't get the bolt out, but he did break Bill's best wrench in half.
After I graduated and was married, Pa started to fail and he just faded away. He used to tell my wife and me that if he didn't die damn soon, he would be a hell of a looking corpse. His day came and he passed away, but then maybe the Big Man thought Pa worked hard all his life so He gave him a rest.
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