Girls
My mind raced, as usual, through the night and several stories popped into my head from when I was a kid. I'm not sure why they came to mind, but I thought I'd share them anyway.
The first was when I was 7-8 years old and we lived in Owensville. I was rough on my clothes, particularly my pants, as a kid and often had holes and rips in the knees. Dad always got me pants (or they were used ones someone else had worn) that were baggy in the legs and I really disliked them because most of my buddies wore tight legged jeans that I thought were cool and I wanted some like them. One day after school I walked the 3-4 blocks from the school to the hardware store where dad worked. I don't recall if I asked to get some new jeans or if he looked at the jeans I was wearing and suggested that I needed new ones, but either way he told me to go down the street to the clothing store and get some. In those days, everyone in town knew dad so I could get a haircut at the barber or get something at the store and the owner knew that dad would settle up with them at a later time. Anyway, I realized this was my chance to get some tight legged jeans without dad being there to tell me NO so I headed excitedly to the store. I tried a pair on that were so tight at the waist that I could hardly button them closed and the legs were skin-tight. They were perfect! So they bagged them up for me and I headed home. I'm guessing dad stopped by the store on the way home to pay for my pants and the salesperson likely told him about my choice of jeans. Anyway, when dad got home he asked to see my new jeans and obviously wasn't pleased with my choice. The next day, my jeans were gone and dad came home that evening with a new pair...that had baggy legs...and orange thread used in the seams. I hated them...but they were my new jeans and I was stuck with them. Looking back, I thought "the clothes make the man", but dads' thought was "the man makes the man". Dad was a wise fellow.
Story 2 was when I lived in Vincennes and went to Franklin Elementary School. In those days, teachers used chalk and black chalkboards in the classrooms. The erasers would eventually get full of chalk dust when the teacher (or the student) would erase work that was on the chalkboard. Probably once or twice a week, the erasers got so full of chalk dust they didn't clean the blackboard very well so the erasers needed to be cleaned. Some teachers probably cleaned them themselves after school but a few teachers would select a student and tell them to go outside and pound the erasers on the sidewalk to shake all the chalk dust out of them. I was one of the students that got selected on occasion to do that. I thought, at the time, that I was pretty cool because I got out of class to go outside to clean the erasers. Looking back, I'm guessing the teacher was pleased too because they got the little red-headed kid to go out and choke on the dust flying around as he slammed those erasers on the sidewalk and the teacher didn't have to do it. A win-win for both of us.
Story 3 was about the kindness of my dad. When we moved to Vincennes, dad worked, and we lived in a small apartment, at the Restwell Motel. Dad was a jack-of-all-trades there, performing maintenance duties, running for supplies as well as manning the front desk as people would come in to rent a room. There were also several ladies that were maids who cleaned the rooms each day after the customers had left. I rode the bus to Franklin School and it would stop in front of the motel each morning to pick me up so I would wait in the front office with dad until the bus came. One morning there was a young girl, maybe 18 or 19 years old, asleep on the couch that was in the small waiting room beside the front desk. Dad had told her to sit there as she waited for Mr. Mauck, the motel owner, to arrive as she wanted to ask for a job as a maid. When Mr. Mauck came in dad woke the girl up, Mr. Mauck told her he didn't have a job for her and he went into his office. As the girl walked to the front door to leave, dad asked her if she had eaten anything and she said NO. He asked if she had any money and she said NO. Dad took out his wallet and took two dollars out and told her to walk across the street to the restaurant and get something to eat. Realize, two dollars was plenty of money to get a meal in the 1960's. More importantly, I didn't see any other bills in dads wallet besides those $2 at the time. He gave her all the money he had. That was my dad. Thinking of and caring for others. There was a powerful lesson there. I hoped I learned from it.
REMEMBER: Before you argue with someone, ask yourself if that person is mentally mature enough to grasp the concept of a different perspective. If not, there's no point to argue.
Be talkin' to ya.
Dad
