Today in honor of Memorial Day I’m sharing a post that my brother wrote about our father a few years ago. Marks a great writer and he really captured Dad’s essence. He overcome great hardship and went on to parent us in the best way that he possibly could. I can often feel his presence and he’s never far from my thoughts. Happy Memorial Day. Michele
| I remember waking up to the sound of work shoes being spit-shined in the hallway of our small home in the Pocono Mountains. I can still hear the slap of the worn rag and the quick rhythm it made, as the dull polish transformed into a glassy shine. Still dark outside, my father was in motion early, enjoying the same breakfast (Cornflakes with milk) at the Formica counter in our kitchen every morning.My father learned the art of shining shoes as a means to survive. He was a homeless street kid in Philadelphia, whose mother died in childbirth and whose father responded by crawling inside a bottle. From what I know, he had moved through a series of foster homes and Catholic orphanages, none of which were any better than the life he found fending for himself on the street. He used to lift Tasty Cakes out of delivery trucks… |
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The Salem Garden 