My father was a traveling seller. In the 1960s, there were a lot of little things in sewing in supermarkets and up to five threads, like zippers, spools and threads. This is the kind of thing he sold out of his trunk. Travel from city to city to invite clients and live in motels. As with many men of his generation, his job was bad. I mean, he was a college football and marines player in the Pacific in World War II in some of the bloodiest and most ugly battles in the war. After we dropped the bomb on Nagasaki, his pamphlet was sent to the city’s police.
He never talks about what he saw, but he was 23 years old, and I’m sure he was tough for him. Then the war was over, and this big slag, hot temper, which hangs over his skin, was earning a living by chatting with young southern ladies at GC Penny’s stores and had to contain himself. He did this to support his family, and I salute him for that.
But when he got home on the weekends, he was ready to detonate, especially when he had too few. My father was a dangerous golfer, and after his two tours on Saturday and Sunday, he always hit the nineteenth hole. So there was always a lot of screaming in our house, and a lot of doors closed and grabbed on the kitchen table. Our house smells twice as scotch. By the time it revolves on Monday morning, we were happy to see him go around.
I remember seeing him pulling out of the corridor, my sister, my brother, and me, and my mother, too, “Whoe Howe, we saved us from another weekend.” Then as the week went on, Thursday turned into Friday, we were all dread the moment he pulled his car back into the lane, and it was time to cover up.
But there was a turning point in his life, and in our lives as a family. My mom got sick with Alzheimer’s at the age of 60. My father was 65 years old, and after being addicted to this weekend addict to alcohol all those years, he stopped drinking, gave up golf and devoted his life to my mom, so much so that we were like children, “Dad, you have to take care of yourself. Going hitting balls Golf We made some efforts, but his heart was not in it. He really wanted to be at home to take care of my mom.