My father died almost 30 years ago. Lung cancer that spread. Horrible. He never got a chance to take my mother to Hawaii. We got into some arguments, but overall I got along okay with him. I was the oldest and I guess he expected more of me than the others. I had a degree, knocked around at various jobs through most of my twenties until finally landing in the Post Office as a career. By that time he was just happy I had security.
He was on the small side and was sometimes mistaken for Yankee short stop Phil Rizzuto. He spent most of his free time at a tavern and that's where he found his friends. In the prime of life he hurt his back working for A&P. He got screwed on the settlement and my mother had to go to work to help out. Eventually a neighbor gave him a job as an auto mechanic at his gas station. Then my father wound up his life in the Post Office as a clerk.
He was in WWII in Europe. I have his photo with him in uniform. Tomorrow I'll put a flower on his grave. I still have his battered old fedora. Though he never made it past 64, the man had a full life. Just wish it were longer.
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