A Tribute To My Dad. It was Black Monday, the day the stock market crashed in October 1929, plummeting the world into the Great Depression. Terror filled the hearts of many that day. Yet, my grandmother's heart was filled with joy at the sight of her newborn baby boy.
He was the youngest of four brothers, born to a single mother living in a one-bedroom rented home in Los Angeles. His early childhood was marked by hunger and loneliness. By the young age of six, my father was selling newspapers on dirt streets in the wee hours of the morning. He earned a penny a day and often slept in an apple cart on the street corner so he wouldn't miss a single sale. From there, he scavenged odd jobs to make a few cents a week so he could eat. His mother worked sixteen hours a day, which left my father and his brothers to fend for themselves. Many days, when they were hungry, a neighbor's apricot tree was a frequent source for meals. It wasn't long before State officials stepped in and removed the boys from their home, placing them in the care of the McKinley Home for Boys.
My father was a handsome lad. He stood five foot ten inches tall with looks that could melt a girl's heart. His blue eyes, curly blonde hair and golden tan were striking, and he was often mistaken for James Dean. He married young, had four children, built his first home by 21 yrs old and paved the way for a successful career as a mason. By all accounts, he was a self-made man. But, he was terribly unlucky in love.
With several failed marriages, and many more relationships that never made it to the alter, my dad lives alone today. He's 81 yrs old and still a handsome man in my eyes. He worked hard his whole life to provide for his loved ones. He acquired many things... things he never had growing up... things that mean something to him. His 'Depression Era' mentality was to never throw anything away as it might come in handy some day. Perhaps I've inherited a little of his frugalness ;)
I love my dad with all of his quirkiness. He never made it past the 8th grade, but he is wise beyond his years. He's a little forgetful now, and sometimes struggles to finish his sentences. I tell him not to worry, I struggle with that too! I call him 'Pops' and he smiles. We reminisce about old times. It's the simple things that matter now. I know our time is short, I can just tell. So I cherish every moment that I have with him... marinating in happier times. And, on this lovely day... my heart is filled with joy as I am reminded that I am my father's daughter. A Tribute To My Dad.
Incidentally, we both share the same name... Mel ;)
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