Parental birthdays always being up old memories and the feelings that accompany them.  My father’s 114th is November 1.  He was an older man – by current standards  – when he married.  During those early years he managed to roam about the country and spent some time in Kansas as a telegrapher on the Union Pacific Railroad.  He later turned to barbering.

He was musical.  He sang in the choir.  I have a photograph of him with an alto saxophone.  He used to sing old ditties to me to make me laugh.  They were all of a vaudevillian genre it seemed.  One that has stayed with me follows.  If you’d like I’ll sing it for you.  You like?  The words follow for you who desire a more in depth experience, and perhaps wish to sing it along with me.

Well, she promised she would meet me when the clock struck seventeenAt the stock-yards just five miles outside of town;Where there's pig's feet and pig's ears, and tough old Texas steersSell for sirloin steak at nineteen cents a pound.   She's my darling, she's my daisy. She's hump-backed and she's crazy,   She's knock-kneed, she's bow-legged and she's lame;   And though they say her breath is sweet, I would rather smell her feet   She' my freckle-faced consumptive Mary Jane.


If you are still here after that, you must have less to do than I do.  Actually I am making a couple of loaves of potato bread.  And yes I have been thinking of my father.  On his birthday, I have a kind of ballad I composed a while ago that I’ll share.  You’ll be happy to hear that it is not musical in case you were thinking of taking a trip that day or maybe making some bread.

I am not at all sure that we are ever done with our parents.

1 Comment

  1. Jerry thanks for the memories, my father was a surgery for C. P. rail in BC. He sang inn the church cornice… Thanks for the reminder.

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