Posted on 12/16/2024 4:05:22 PM PST by yldstrk
The pain in my father's eyes is a sort of memory seared so thoroughly that I will never forget it.
There he was, aged 41, in the back of a police cruiser as I stand outside looking back at him, myself frozen in time. His sharp, deep blue eyes were not onlooking some boyish mishap of mine or expressing a sense of fatherly pride.
He sat there, handcuffed, utterly defeated by life.
Only moments earlier, on a cold, damp January 2007 day along the hills of East Tennessee, my father and I hastily packed whatever personal belongings we could salvage out of our recently foreclosed house.
After taking a bad loan and not consistently holding jobs, he had fallen well behind on mortgage payments. Despite episodes of sacrificing payments for water, power, or gas, the money had run out, and no lender was interested in assisting.
(Excerpt) Read more at msn.com ...
I am divorced, have been since 1999. It was rough time, but doing so meant I could spend more times with the kids and ensure they were taken care of and encouraged to follow their dreams utilizing their inate abilities. I pretty well succeeded.
I am now retired, medically due to Long Covid, but it's quiet and almost no one bothers me, except the bozo who ran down my mailbox last Friday morning. đđ I stay home, rest, and cherish the good times while I watch my kids flourish during their grownup years.
At present, life is good.
See Post #21
The bold emphasis is mine.Under a spreading chestnut-tree
â The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands,
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.His hair is crisp, and black, and long;
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate'er he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter's voice
Singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.It sounds to him like her mother's voice
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.Toiling,ârejoicing,âsorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose.Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.This poem is in the public domain.
You are right and said it well. We’d all do well to remember and be thankful for the blessed times we’ve had knowing that a lot of people face real problems...a good time of year to remember this!
“”No sympathy from me.. you are responsible for your decisions and future””
You’re sure you’ll never face dire circumstances? Always make the right decisions? Nothing will ever happen that’s beyond your control?
WOW!
I’m sure others are prevented from doing the same thing. Nice thought anyway for which you are to be commended..
Is that a picture of a Blackhawk on your FR profile?
Looks more like an “indictment” of what the author calls “Trumpism” and “Trump’s antics”. The author also uses the word “fascism” without context.
“the chamber of commerce.”
I left them years ago. ‘Their philosophy was much different than my conservative values.
What a wonderful story about your father who would recite Longfellow’s The Village Blacksmith. Longfellow lived in Cambridge, MA on Brattle St. His house is still there and you can take a tour of it. The village blacksmith was a friend of his who lived on Brattle St. Sometime you might enjoy going there and visiting the house and the site where the smithy worked.
Brattle Street is where many of the Loyalists lived prior to the Revolutionary War. It’s sometimes called Tory Row. Most of the Loyalists were forced to leave town, many moved to Canada or England. Their church still stands today, still with bullet holes in the side of the building. It was boarded up for a 15 years after the revolution but the building is still there now.
I don’t remember who said it but a few decades ago I read an article by someone who said the key to getting ahead in life was to do the jobs that no one else wanted to do.
You and higgmeister are killing it tonight!
Never said any of what you wrote and never said I didn’t make mistakes.
Youâre sure youâll never face dire circumstances?
I have but made quick choices to resolve those circumstances.
Always make the right decisions?
Nope made numerous bad ones, took responsibility and accepted the punishment but learned quick.
Nothing will ever happen thatâs beyond your control?
Had a business I worked for go bankrupt. I was young married with our first kid. Paychecks bounced, I then bounced from useless job to useless job and I had a family I wasn’t supporting so I joined the Navy for a full time job and get myself some much needed discipline and that led to a great career choice after the Navy.
Now retired and living the dream, still married, 4 grandkids , we do what we want not hurting and enjoying life.
Life’s about choices.. repeating bad ones over and over then blaming everyone else for your decision gets no sympathy from me.
How did you figure your way out of it?
“”Never said any of what you wrote and never said I didnât make mistakes.””
I didn’t say those were your words - that was the take away from your original post...self sufficient and no respect or patience for anyone who wasn’t. Kudos to you for rising above all the situations you faced - seriously.
I don’t think I ever totally “figured my way out of it.” I just kept plugging away.
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