ford38v8
Well-known member
Like I said above, Willit said it best, but now I can't help but to get maudlin...
I have in my possession some items that belonged to my father. I have his cigar box from the top of his dresser, with the small personal little items within that don't mean a thing to anyone but me. I have his personal clothes locker and contents from the factory that he retired from, with 40 years worth of accumulated stuff, trash to anyone but me: Work boots with leather hard as the steel toes within, oil stained coveralls, a small stack of neatly folded blue patterned handkerchiefs. (I never knew my father to be without a handkerchief). Setup notes to himself in his own distinctive handwriting, a small address book with names of long dead friends and clients, a letter of reprimand from his shop foreman for drinking on the job, and yes, an empty half pint of Early Times. There is a peanut can containing packets of salt from the fast food restaurant I worked at when I was 16, and two broken smoking pipes in a tobacco can. These were things he touched, things he saw every day, things I would never consider throwing out. These things I see if I open that locker. This is my father, and he is in there, in that locker standing in the corner of my garage today.
I have in my possession some items that belonged to my father. I have his cigar box from the top of his dresser, with the small personal little items within that don't mean a thing to anyone but me. I have his personal clothes locker and contents from the factory that he retired from, with 40 years worth of accumulated stuff, trash to anyone but me: Work boots with leather hard as the steel toes within, oil stained coveralls, a small stack of neatly folded blue patterned handkerchiefs. (I never knew my father to be without a handkerchief). Setup notes to himself in his own distinctive handwriting, a small address book with names of long dead friends and clients, a letter of reprimand from his shop foreman for drinking on the job, and yes, an empty half pint of Early Times. There is a peanut can containing packets of salt from the fast food restaurant I worked at when I was 16, and two broken smoking pipes in a tobacco can. These were things he touched, things he saw every day, things I would never consider throwing out. These things I see if I open that locker. This is my father, and he is in there, in that locker standing in the corner of my garage today.
