DADDY WAS/IS MY HERO
Daddy was/is my hero. Not Patrick Mahones, LeBron James, Martin Luther King, Jr., just Daddy. He was in the genre of black men who had migrated from the "South" in the 1950s, who raised large families, and who did everything to support them, every kind of work to live.
I can recall raking fallen leaves from some "rich" white folks yard up in Webster Groves, Missouri, in the Spring of 1964, with Daddy. It was a big fine house in a big fine yard on Rockhill Road and Swon streets.
Daddy's regular-week job was with the St. Louis County Highway Department. But on weekends, he worked all kinds of jobs (and me with him as the eldest of his then six kids, by Mama), including painting, driveway asphalting, patio installations, leaf raking as well.
Anyway, around noon , Daddy knocked on the white lady's door and asked her to fix us a lunch. It did not matter what. Hot dogs were fine. I overheard this nearby. But I kept on raking. A few minutes later the homeowner told Daddy that lunch was ready. Daddy told me to come on in and eat. I was there in a flash. We were shown into a nook beside the kitchen area to a table on which sat hot dogs and split pea soup. I was no fan of split pea soup but beggars can't be choosy. We dined and departed to complete the yard work we were there for.
The lessons I learned just from that one experience have lasted me for a lifetime. Daddy was/is my hero !
Saturday, January 12, 2019
DADDY WAS/IS MY HERO
DADDY WAS/IS MY HERO
Daddy was/is my hero. Not Patrick Mahones, LeBron James, Martin Luther King, Jr., just Daddy. He was in the genre of black men who had migrated from the "South" in the 1950s, who raised large families, and who did everything to support them, every kind of work to live.
I can recall raking fallen leaves from some "rich" white folks yard up in Webster Groves, Missouri, in the Spring of 1964, with Daddy. It was a big fine house in a big fine yard on Rockhill Road and Swon streets.
Daddy's regular-week job was with the St. Louis County Highway Department. But on weekends, he worked all kinds of jobs (and me with him as the eldest of his then six kids, by Mama), including painting, driveway asphalting, patio installations, leaf raking as well.
Anyway, around noon , Daddy knocked on the white lady's door and asked her to fix us a lunch. It did not matter what. Hot dogs were fine. I overheard this nearby. But I kept on raking. A few minutes later the homeowner told Daddy that lunch was ready. Daddy told me to come on in and eat. I was there in a flash. We were shown into a nook beside the kitchen area to a table on which sat hot dogs and split pea soup. I was no fan of split pea soup but beggars can't be choosy. We dined and departed to complete the yard work we were there for.
The lessons I learned just from that one experience have lasted me for a lifetime. Daddy was/is my hero !
