Sam Krause
Balls were bouncing in the gym.
Children were running, shooting baskets.
Among all the chaos
I saw you grinning at me –
wanting me to watch you.
You waved at me – I waved at you.
You showed me how you could dribble.
The moment froze in my memory.
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One day my grandfather taught me a valuable lesson about life.
My grandfather was a house painter. In his lifetime he must have painted hundreds of houses inside and out. He was a happy, outgoing man who made friends easily. It wasn’t hard to tell that he loved his work as well as his life. He was also an excellent painter. No one could paint a wall like grandpa. Consequently, he was always in demand.
Once, while in college, I went to help Grandpa paint a house. While working inside, I noticed how skilled he was at giving a wall a quality coat of paint so quickly. As a matter of fact, he could carry on a conversation with the homeowner, laughing all the time, while painting three walls to my one. READ MORE
The earliest memory I have of my father is one of me as a young boy holding his hand by his two last fingers as we walked together. His hands seemed so large. His fingers were all I could actually grip.
A young Tom and his dad at the zoo.
My father was a bread deliveryman. I remember the times when he would stop by the house in the early morning on those cold days when I was home from school over Christmas break. I would ride on the floor of that bread truck as he made deliveries to the stores. I don’t remember if those old trucks even had heaters. It didn’t matter. The smell and warmth from the bread that had just come from the bakery ovens would both make my mouth water and keep me warm at the same time.
In high school I became interested in athletics. My father would attend all my games. READ MORE