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Mom and Dad went fishing nearly every evening. On rare occasions they returned with no fish. White bass was the usual catch. Their favorite lagoon laughingly became known as White Bass Lake. All of us have the fishing bug in our blood.
Dad never had to raise his voice. We weren?t afraid of him, but we knew he meant business. If he spoke to us about discipline at all, that was all that was needed. If it was a serious scolding, he would be sick afterwards.
Dad was a voracious reader. Every day he read ??The Chicago Sun Times? from cover to cover. He went through it once in a one hour sitting. Later in the evening he would go through it again in a 2-3 hour session. He and Mom worked, crossword puzzles religiously . He had the largest vocabulary of anyone I have ever
Dad was quiet and rarely verbalized his feelings. Somehow I always knew those feelings.
Cigars permeated my life. Dad smoked at least ten per day.
He was never seen without one. Cigar smoke even escaped from under the bathroom door. In high school I was embarrassed because I smelled like a cigar. My lacker partner would remind me every day that I smelled like one.
As years passed and cross country trucking became more prevalent, there was less and less demand for a job like my father?s. He was forced to move to Chicago where we lived for two years and then on to Dubuque, Iowa. Dad?s extra job in Dubuque was either collecting money from patrons of "The Telegraph Herald? or being a parking guard at Finley Hospital.
I was in college when the diagnosis came -------- cancer; lung
and bone. Dad never complained. We never realized that he was really sick. Six weeks later he was gone.
At the funeral home some of our fondest memories of Dad arose. The one memory that brought laughs was the story of the family rosary. Yes, I guess our family was unique. Lots of feelings that were unspoken. Today I realize how lucky I was even if I smelled like a cigar!
known.
Rita A. Perre*-Davis