Happy Birthday, Dad!

I share my father with thirteen siblings. As a father of four, I spend about as much time as you would guess just trying to figure out how he did all of the things that he needed to do to provide for us. I still stand amazed by the very long hours he worked to provide for the things that his very large family needed. My last name may be Newton but I can't do the math because the equation just doesn't seem to balance.

Throughout my childhood, my dad worked in sales. I know that he had other jobs before I was born, but I will always think of him as a sewing machine salesman and repair guy. He managed a store, back in the day when they had Singer stores in the malls. His income was based on the sales he closed and there were times that as a manager of the store he would work longer hours, rather than hire another sales person, to help make financial ends meet at home.

In my pre-school years, and in the summers I would often stay up late and watch Gunsmoke with my dad after he got home from work. Those long hours sometimes meant that during the school year he would leave for work before I got up and would come home well after I had gone down to bed. This meant that he frequently missed family dinner. I didn't even realize it until my teenage years, but my mother always made sure that there was some food set aside for my dad when he came home.

As he walked through the door he would call out my mother's name and as he settled in and got out of his work clothes my mother would get out the plate she had set aside and warm it up for him. I imagine that many of these meals were eaten alone or while watching the news because as kids we would have been asleep, more often than not. On one of these days when my dad came home late, I had fallen asleep in front of the television waiting for my dad to come home.

I have to surmise what happened next because I wasn't actually awake to see it. But I am pretty sure it went something like this. Dad opened the back door which opened up directly into the dining room of our house. Sitting before him, on the table, was a bowl with delicious pudding. The main course had been put away, but this special treat lay waiting for him upon his return from work. He took a big spoon and dipped it into the pudding. I think I love pudding just as much as my dad and I probably inherited those taste buds from him.

I was awakened by the shout of "NORENE!"

Running into the dining room I found that my dad had just ingested a giant spoonful of congealed gravy.

Happy 86th birthday, Dad.