I was born. I suffered.
I suffered some more, and hopefully,
I won't die a painful death.
This is my life.

Happy Birthday to The Old Man

Happy Birthday to The Old Man!
~12/09/1929~


For this special occasion, I will relay a short but sweet story that I heard from my brother, let's call him Craig.


Back when Craig was in high school, on cold winter days, he would be eating breakfast and waiting to go to class, The Old Man would get up and make it to our one bathroom to shave. The Old Man has this shaving kit with a ivory white shaving cream brush. After he slathered on the Barbasol with the brush and shaved off the stubble, he'd splash on some Old Spice and make his way over to his sock drawer. Now his sock drawer was really a catch-all wood cabinet thing that we called "the bar." The Old Man kept all sorts of things in the various drawers of the bar, socks were just the icing. 


It was pretty dark outside and The Old Man would usually just have the little light on  in the ceiling over the bar. Now The Old Man had about 57 different pairs of black socks in the bar. And they all were different shades. His socks were all about three feet long and were the thick fuzzy type. So The Old Man would stand there at the bar and try to pick out matching black socks for his day at work. He would pick out two socks and hold them up to the dim light and squint to gage what color they were. Most of the time he would mutter something under his breath or swear to the air. Craig and I have theorized that The Old Woman, while doing the laundry, would find a matching pair of The Old Man's socks and throw one of them out in the garbage just to spite him.


Eventually, he would either find a match or one close enough as to not have anyone at the plant to notice. All was right with the world. And that is the great story of The Old Man's morning sock matching ritual.

Happy birthday dad! I love you.