My Dad had a rough childhood. In fact I doubt I could have coped with it. I expect that childhood, as with most of us, made him into the man he was to become. I'm sure the man I knew as my father was different than the man my brother and sister knew as father because they were so much older than I. But, probably not enough to make any real difference.
My Dad was born in June 1902. I am not sure how old he was when his parents foisted him off on his uncle Mac. The story of his parents is for another day though. Those times were different than what we grew up in and very different that how things are now. One of the things back then (as it is in some other countries now) when a meal was fixed the men ate first then the adult women then the kids.
There was some logic to this. The men were working hard (most of them anyhow) in the gardens and other chores necessary to life. The women were working hard doing the things needed done keeping house. I may have known at one time how many children Mac had but I have forgotten. But, my Dad, not being his child came in even behind the children when it came to eating. He said he was an adult before he knew a chicken had anything but a back and neck. Or, maybe, it was feet and neck. Yes, we cooked the chicken's feet. When you're country poor you don't waste anything that is edible.
Hunger played a big part in my Dad's life. Not just the growing up part but all the time. Just an opinion I have. I don't see how that kind of upbringing could just fade away. And, I must say, though we did not have a lot we always had plenty to eat. For that I am thankful.
He told me many times he was so hungry he would wander along the railroad tracks hoping to find a hobo that had fallen under a train and been killed. Well, you guess the rest. He said he had always wondered what a human tasted like.
I'm not sure what age it was my Dad went to West Virginia to live with his sister, Mamie and work in the coal mines. He could not have been too old though as he was involved in the Battle of Blair Mountain (Look it up. Pretty interesting.) in 1921. He would have just turned nineteen. He also worked a ferry for a while. For some reason I seem to remember it being in Charleston, WV. I could well be mistaken on that though.
For an unknown reason he joined the Navy in 1922. He was only 5' 4" tall and they had to get a special waiver for his height to let him enlist. He spent thirty years in the Navy and retired as an E7.
Military pay grades are either an 'E' for enlisted or 'O' for officer. The number is how far from the bottom you are. He ended his Navy career as an Aviation Ordinance Chief.
There are many stories from his Navy days and I'll relate some of them at a later date. I don't mean this to be too long.
He retired from the Navy in 1952. I've been told his retirement pension was forty-some dollars a month. From that paltry amount (these days) he raised three children and supported my grandfather and grandmother until they were old enough to get their "old age" pension. Like I said, it was a different time. I, personally, remember four cent postage stamps. Candy bars were a nickel. Bazooka Joe bubble gum was two for a penny. Soda pop was ten cents a bottle. Gasoline was twenty something cents a gallon.
Then, he supplemented our diet by hunting. We had plenty of squirrels and a variety of other wild critters for the pot. It is not a big thing in a lot of the country but when and where I grew up squirrel hunting was a big thing and an important source of food. Until I was an adult (almost) "hunting season" was just a theory. We hunted almost year 'round.
We moved around some and in 1961 we ended up in West Van Lear, Ky so I could attend a school other than the one-room school at Preston Gap. Those were good and bad years for reasons I will not go into here.
My Dad was not a patient man. Well, he was fifty one years old when I was born and now I'm in my fifties I kind of understand. Old men like he and I should not have children unless they don't have to be around them much. He and my mother did not agree on much but "Spare the Rod and Spoil the Child" was something they were one hundred percent in agreement on.
A biref sojourn back to my Dad's days with Uncle Mac. Seems Mac had some 'funny' ideas on discipline. Instead of whipping my Dad when he messed up he would just tell him that was a whipping he owed him the next rainy day. When it would cloud up Mac would "slip down under the river bank" and cut as many switches as he had promised my Dad whippings. Then he would take Dad to the barn and proceed to "wear out" each and every switch on him. How many of you would have found that hard to deal with? Or even impossible? Knowing my Dad it is a miracle Mac never woke up with an axe in his head.
My Dadl lived until November of 1992 and was ninety years old when he died. He changed a lot after my mother died. Not in all things but in some. He lived with my (now ex) wife and I from right after my mother died. Over the years he and my (ex-) wife became closer than he and I ever were. I was not close to either of my parents. I feared them and that was about all. In my teen years I spent as much time away from them as possible.
But, my two girls were the 'apple of his eye'. They never knew in papaw the man I grew up with. He called them Knothead and Squirt.
Ok, enough for today. I thought to write a brief synopsis but as I go along more and more memories are coming back and I don't need to write a novella today.
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