Dad's Birthday

Today is Flag Day here in the United States. On this day in 1777, the government officially adopted the Stars and Stripes as our national flag. No one knows for sure, but it was most likely designed by Congressman Francis Hopkinson and sewn by a seamstress in Philadelphia named Betsy Ross.

Today my Dad would've been 108 years old.  Born in 1902, he lived through the Great Depression, stock market crash, world war II and much more.  He went from horse and buggy to the Model T to the Pinto.  Imagine the span of technological inventions and advances in his lifetime.  It's mind-boggling.

When I was born, he called me his "dolly."  Sixteen years older than my Mother, Dad ruled the roost of us four chicks (mom and 3 girls) and we all called him "Dad."  During my childhood he was in his 50's and 60's then had a heart attack at age 59 when I was in 4th grade.

Things were tight economically, and Dad had to go pick coal, before I was born, to heat the house.  Times were lean for this factory worker who made $100/week for a family of five. 
Yet, somehow, we muddled through and always had enough to eat and a bed to sleep in and a doll or two to play with, although I preferred horses & dogs to dolls.

Dad died when he was 74, back in 1976.  I was working at Tiffany's in Beverly Hills, California at the time.  It was a sad day.  I remember the manager calling me into his office and telling me I could take time off to go to the funeral.  Everyone gathered around me upstairs in the lunch room.  I felt discombobulated and confused.  It was a difficult time.

Years passed, but my sadness never went away entirely.  So every Flag Day I feel kind of melancholy.  But I know why.  It's one more loss and one less person who knows and cares about me.  As time goes by those relationships become paramount to living a quality life.  Ghosts of the past are but memories of friendship, fading rememberances of lost love and tender times.