My sister's dad

My sister read the blog to date.  She tells me that’s not a bandage on dad’s foot, it’s dirt.  Lots of it.  She knows because he told her.  She also knows he was three years old in the picture and Uncle Bill is 18 months.  She knows all the stories and more.  She and dad were very close and she was one of his caretakers the last years he was alive.  They talked even more, then.  She says I need more of the stories and she’ll get the ones she remembers down to be posted.

Jan is ten and a half years younger than I.  By the time she arrived perhaps Mom and Dad were more mellow.  Or they just realized they could do things differently.  We have a joke about having two different dads.  She and Dad talked, for instance, but my brothers and I just listened.  I was in such awe of him as a person and fascinated with what he talked about I doubt I could have talked to him.  I wouldn’t change a thing about growing up; it worked out well and here I am today to talk about it.

So, Jan says from time to time there will be stories of her dad to post.  And as I can write them down, I’ll tell you some I know from Sarge and Sparks.  Do you know where to find a pie stretcher?  I do.