My dad was born in Kentucky and was 25 years old in 1945 when he was hired on at the then called, David Taylor Model Basin. He took me there once before kid-to-work-day was fashionable, and showed me the huge tank used to test model ships for the Navy. I thought it was spectacular. Dad […]
Tag Archives: father
On a warm, sunny spring day when I was maybe 7 years old my Dad took me fishing. He took me fishing once, and only once. The fish were running so thick on the Potomac River you could just about scoop them out of the water with a net if you wanted. We loaded up […]
Reluctantly he walked into the open courtyard, rushed by sudden trepidation and the hurried trembling of his hand against the door of his father’s house. His portion of the household where he studied, slept and practiced his djembe was usually a guaranteed sanctuary against troubles he might encounter from time to time. But not today. […]
HardWriteTurn 