From last year and it still makes me grin!
My father has been gone since 1981, when he died at age 58 and I was 26. I wrote of him here, which was of a serious bent. The thing about families that make them so rich are the stories that don’t make the news. It is my favorite way to spend time, to sit and listen to stories that tell you what made the most influential people in your life tick. And, once the stories begin and the current opens up, you see how generation upon generation passed on legacies – both the good and the bad. Today, I’m going to tell you a couple of stories involving my father, my cousin, Jenny, and me.
A bit of background here. In 1975, I had lived under his roof for a brief – but very long six months and when I had moved in, he had laid down…
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