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| My parents, Aprox late 1930's |
Remembering stories told by my father, Arthur Seymour
Growing up my father Arthur (Art for short) used to tell us
stories of the adventures in got himself into as a kid growing up in the
country.
I remember asking and begging for him to retell the stories
to us. I also remember waiting up for my father to come home from work. He worked a full time job but also was always
working in his spare time. He had a quarter acre garden every year, built the house we lived in and all the outbuildings, hunted and had a
firewood selling business on the side. Many nights he would come home
late. One of my fond memories is him
chasing us littlest kids around the house, catching us and rubbing his chin
whiskers on our face.
My father passed away many years ago, way before my youngest
children got to know him which saddens me.
He was not perfect, in truth he had many flaws, but the good times were
the best!
