Whether our parents are alive or like all 4 of ours, I'll bet there are some great 'short' stories waiting to be told....whether or or

This 'thread' idea came to me after one of my swim buddies told me this quick story at noon today. I can't even remember how the topic came up, but I was probably kidding him about having a "silver spoon childhood". He said:

"My father worked on Saturdays for a cigar and a cream cheese sandwich"

I didn't even have time to ask more, as we were in the middle of our workout Nevertheless, it gave me an "image" of a devoted Jewish father in lower Manhattan....probably in the 1930's (my friend was born in 1931). I'll have to ask him more if I see him tomorrow at the pool.

How about you?

Does this give you any "flashback" stories....whether your father or mother is 42, 62 or 82 They can be nostalgic or sad or funny ....whatever!

 

My Dad is 81. I remember many stories of growing up during the depression in a less than affluent family. One in particular comes to mind about the time when he was about 15 or 16 and his father bought a very small house. It had no basement and my father was given the job one summer of digging one by hand! He dug that entire cellar alone by hand- without a single gripe because it was the way things were in those days. My Dad was never abused- just taught that hard work was part of life. But the best part of the story was that because the house was so small they had to have an outside entrance to get to the cellar and when he started digging back in the yard to cut a stairway down to the basement he uncovered a complete Model T Ford! Someone in the past had simply dug a pit and drove it in-the keys were still in the car! They never did get to the bottom of the mystery. To this day even at 81 my father has forearms and wrists like treestumps.

 

chef's comment about tree stumps triggered a memory about my dad.
my dad grew up in Maine. at 14 he was a scrawny kid but went to work at a logging camp for the summer. his job for the summer was stacking pine pulp wood. the logs typically were 8 feet long and 6-8 inches across. these had to 'tossed' up onto the flatbed trailers to a height of 10-12 feet.
needless to say at the end of the summer his shoulders and upper torso was huge.
when he got home his older brothers came out to give him a hard time.
he proceeded to pick one up under either arm and carry them into the house.

fast forward 25 years;
we were at family friends and a very large friend was there who spent many hours in the gym power lifting.
some how this 20 year old kid challenged my dad who was just shy of 40, to an arm wrestle.
after the start the competitor was grunting and groaning and huffing and puffing. no motion, nothing. dad was just sitting there smiling.
after a few minutes of this my dad smiled wider and said "you ready?"

bam 3 seconds and over.

 

When my mom was young (still alive and healthy at nearly 84), her father distributed liquor during prohibition (and afterward). They owned a grocery store and people would come there to fill their bottles or buy one.

Once when liquor agents were coming, they had to stash several cases of liquor. They stashed the liquor in a bed with my mom and her sisters and covered them up with a comforter. They knew the agents wouldn't dare look there. Of course they had to remain still so the bottles wouldn't clink together.

 

great story ^^

 

There have to be some more good stories out there

Come on people....don't be shy! It's fun to be nostalgic...but it's risky

 

I don't have any favorite stories AT ALL except for the one my dad used to tell about when he was a boy down on the farm. There was a pesky cow who wouldn't come out of her stall one morning, so he grabbed her by her tail, used his foot on her bumper for leverage and much to his surprised, her tail ripped off. As I recall his father was quite displeased at this turn of events and my dad was unable to seat himself with ease for quite some time.

 

Awww, geez Val. Same thing happened to my wife when she was little with her bunny. She tried to catch it, caught the tail, and it came off. Afterward she says her mom poured alcohol on it. Then it died.
Poor thing probably died from the shock.

 

poor little bunny.

 

My dad has many stories of growing up in Montana and also some from his days in the Marine Corps that are pretty interesting/funny. He grew up on a ranch and rode his horse to school. A few years ago, he wrote a book of recollections that he had printed for the family, so that is good. And he has documented his time in the service quite well since. My mother has chosen not to write down or tell much. I don't think her childhood was that great, so she is reticent to talk/write about it, even though we have encouraged her to.

Here's one story from my dad. He was aboard ship during WWII headed to parts unknown from San Diego. He would fish some from the deck, but wasn't catching anything. One day he got called away from fishing by one of his subordinates. After awhile, someone came running in and told him his line was pulling like a fish was on there. He went back and sure enough, he reeled in a big fish! But on it was a note that said "Greetings from Uncle Otto!". Turns out the cook had put a frozen fish on the line.