Submissions Tagged 'dad,'

I exist because of the Vietnam War.

My father, Patrick, was an infantryman, sent across the sea in 1967. One of 11 children from a poor Irish slum in Philadelphia, he was young, scrubbed, and ready for a fight. His enthusiasm lasted all of a day, when upon arrival he saw children with guns, guns pointed at him. So he used his humor to survive. And in so doing, he met a very funny man named David. They became buddies. Best friends.

David got a lot of mail from his family; Patrick got nothing. In one of his Read more

The skin on Dad’s hands was dry, cracked, and marked with scars from years of physical labor while working in a machine shop. When he wasn’t at work with a wrench, he spent his weekends hammering and building the handy man special we fondly called home. Helping him on this solemn morning, and watching his hands, I was flooded with memories of my Dad and childhood.

“Hold still for a second, I almost have it,” I said. Dad dropped his hands to his sides. I slipped the knot closer, making it a little snugger, just the way he Read more

The skin on Dad’s hands was dry, cracked, and marked with scars from years of physical labor while working in a machine shop. When he wasn’t at work with a wrench, he spent his weekends hammering and building the handy man special we fondly called home. Helping him on this solemn morning, and watching his hands, I was flooded with memories of my Dad and childhood.

“Hold still for a second, I almost have it,” I said. Dad dropped his hands to his sides. I slipped the knot closer, making it a little snugger, just the way he Read more

 
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