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Archive for the ‘Fathers’ Category

Between the ages of five and eight, my parents gave me the most wonderful, priceless gift.

My family was like many other post World War II families living in less than ideal housing and dreaming of owning their own home.  My father was lucky and had a good job, but there wasn’t a whole lot left to go into savings for that home.  When I started school in 1950, my mother first took a part-time job and later a full-time one–working in the evening. She was there to get me up, dressed, fed and on my way to school, give me lunch (remember when we all walked home at noon to eat) and at least initially after school.  After she started working full time, she’d leave the door on the latch for me and I’d be alone for a half hour until my father got home. (more…)

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Happy memories of my Dad include him dancing with me in his arms at age one (had colic) to the tune of “Valencia” and “Blue Moon” on the old Victrola. Then at age two, this time in a big armchair on his lap, hearing his original stories about a naughty (ornery) girl whom he named “Ornerabis.” I felt assured he did not mean me as the ornery one. He loved reading James Whitcomb Riley poems, too, like “Little Orphan Annie”.  I retain and can recite a lot of Riley poems.

Thanks, Dad – Love, Christine Purves

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My father was a wonderful man.  Funny, caring, loving.  He adored my mother for almost all of his life (he was six when they met). He always stayed in touch with ALL our families. And very old-fashioned.  When we went into the city, he made sure he walked on the outside of the street near the curb in case someone would throw something out of the windows.   He worked hard, and when he came home, we would have dinner, and my mother would jump up to get whatever he asked for.  Of course, as I got older and feminism became the norm, that annoyed me no end, since my mother was also working at the time, but as she reminded me, it was  a different time.  I went to say kaddish on the anniversary of his death last year, and as the prayer was being chanted, memories of him rushed to my head, and I got sort of weepy-eyed.  Afterwards, a woman asked how long my dad was gone, and I said 20 years.  She thought it had just happened.  I still miss him.

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At the preschool on my block, I see almost as many fathers as mothers bringing their two- to four-year olds to school.  Daddy is very visible these days:  at the school, at the supermarket on the corner, and very un-self-consciously pushing a carriage.  When my own children were small, that was not the case.  In fact, it was the unusual father who even changed diapers. (more…)

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