.
Hindsight provides new eyes.
---WAYNE W. DYER, You'll See It When You Believe It
My dad was a hard working mixed farmer who also spent long hours working in road construction and land clearing. He was rarely home for supper and often wouldn't get home from a long day at work until after we children had gone to bed. The barking of the dog and the lights of the truck shining on the bedroom ceiling as Dad pulled into the yard after a long day either on the field or at the road construciton site are vivid childhood memories. Because of Dad's busy work life, there were many birthday parties, trips to the lake, and sports events where his absence was the norm.
If Dad managed to get home before our bedtime one of my favourite jobs was to untie the laces of his boots and help pull off both boots and the underlying long grey red trimmed work socks.
They say that the olfactory senses are capable of triggering the memory portion of the brain. However, in this instance, I think it is just as well that the memory portion of the brain can also shut down the olfactory memory of feet being released from 18 hours of active confinement. It is, therefore, a memory not unduly dwelt upon.
In light of this information regarding my Dad (his habit of hard work, not the smell of his feet) it is somewhat surprising that he took any interest in our family having rabbits for pets. Owning these rabbits were in contrast to the occasional Jack Rabbit that Dad would bring home from the field. He'd walk in with his tool box under his arm and say, "Call the kids.". When we were all standing around, he'd carefully open the lid and there would be a cringing terror stricken rabbit ( or in Watership Down terms,' a rabbit in a deathly State of Tharn'). These bunnies were rarely kept longer than overnight because, as experience proved, they never survived long in captivity.
I do not now where the rabbits came from or even remember their arrival. I do know that the housing of these rabbits in 'freedom giving' cardboard boxes resulted in some panicky late night measuring, sawing, and hammering in the basement until there was a chicken wire rabbit cage with privacy hatch ready for "Blacky' , 'Hoppy' and 'Spotty". I vividly remember this cage being manufactured as I was the proud pencil holder, square stabilizer, and ' nail hander' during the building process.
Yes, Mr. Dwyer, hindsight has given me new eyes. Just writing this has given me a renewed insight into the type of father my Dad actually was. He could be described by some as a work alcoholic, absentee father, but part of him obviously wanted to be part of our lives as much as we wanted him to be.
Even if the words were never expressed, this taking the time from his life of overwork and money worries to build a rabbit cage so his children could enjoy some house pets exemplifies the action of the verb called love.
Hindsight provides new eyes.
---WAYNE W. DYER, You'll See It When You Believe It
My dad was a hard working mixed farmer who also spent long hours working in road construction and land clearing. He was rarely home for supper and often wouldn't get home from a long day at work until after we children had gone to bed. The barking of the dog and the lights of the truck shining on the bedroom ceiling as Dad pulled into the yard after a long day either on the field or at the road construciton site are vivid childhood memories. Because of Dad's busy work life, there were many birthday parties, trips to the lake, and sports events where his absence was the norm.
If Dad managed to get home before our bedtime one of my favourite jobs was to untie the laces of his boots and help pull off both boots and the underlying long grey red trimmed work socks.
They say that the olfactory senses are capable of triggering the memory portion of the brain. However, in this instance, I think it is just as well that the memory portion of the brain can also shut down the olfactory memory of feet being released from 18 hours of active confinement. It is, therefore, a memory not unduly dwelt upon.
In light of this information regarding my Dad (his habit of hard work, not the smell of his feet) it is somewhat surprising that he took any interest in our family having rabbits for pets. Owning these rabbits were in contrast to the occasional Jack Rabbit that Dad would bring home from the field. He'd walk in with his tool box under his arm and say, "Call the kids.". When we were all standing around, he'd carefully open the lid and there would be a cringing terror stricken rabbit ( or in Watership Down terms,' a rabbit in a deathly State of Tharn'). These bunnies were rarely kept longer than overnight because, as experience proved, they never survived long in captivity.
I do not now where the rabbits came from or even remember their arrival. I do know that the housing of these rabbits in 'freedom giving' cardboard boxes resulted in some panicky late night measuring, sawing, and hammering in the basement until there was a chicken wire rabbit cage with privacy hatch ready for "Blacky' , 'Hoppy' and 'Spotty". I vividly remember this cage being manufactured as I was the proud pencil holder, square stabilizer, and ' nail hander' during the building process.
Yes, Mr. Dwyer, hindsight has given me new eyes. Just writing this has given me a renewed insight into the type of father my Dad actually was. He could be described by some as a work alcoholic, absentee father, but part of him obviously wanted to be part of our lives as much as we wanted him to be.
Even if the words were never expressed, this taking the time from his life of overwork and money worries to build a rabbit cage so his children could enjoy some house pets exemplifies the action of the verb called love.
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