“Yesterday was the anniversary of my father’s death; he died thirteen years ago. I’ve thought of him often this month but not yesterday. What about yesterday don’t I know?

My father was the last of eleven children; called Jack though his name was John. My father claimed he had a chip on his shoulder; seemed proud that he kept it on.

A boxer, a carpenter, a joker to the end; always with a twinkle in his eye. Absent from my life most of my life but at least we said goodbye … at least we said goodbye.”


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