My Fathers son

It was a couple of days before mothers day. I think it was back in 1976 or so. My dad, retired after decades of employment as a shoestore manager, was working along side of me in my small retail shop.
He was a great father and had witnessed and lived through my very troubled youth. Not that I was a bad kid, rather, I was a non performer and constant pain in the ass to any teacher from nursery school all the way through high school who had the misfortune of having me in their classroom. My mother had to beg every teacher I had to "just pass him". By the second year of high school it became obvious that I was not going any further up the educational ladder. I left school at 17 years of age on bad terms with the establishment, and no credentials.
My poor dad was devastated, I had gotten myself kicked out of hebrew school without having a Bar Mitzvah, I was out of high school, and I was starting to get in trouble. He envisioned that a tragic end was waiting for his only son. I can still see the sadness in his eyes when he looked at me back then.
The United States Air Force reluctantly agreed to take me in for 4 years (at the time I'd never heard of Viet Nam). My life turned around the instant they had me. I had never before had iron clad conditions spelled out pertaining to my performance or behavior. I finally felt compelled to conform to a greater calling than my own scattered and immature compulsions. My life in the service was exciting, and exceedingly dangerous. I was honorably discharged in 1965 and within one month of my discharge had met the girl who would become my lifetime mate.
We had a couple of kids and started a little business. It was an art gallery. We started it with barely $5000. in capital. Within 4 years, it was apparent that we were going to be successful.
My dad and I were standing behind the counter, catching our breath between the onslaughts
of my very rich customers who were spending very easily for the expensive porcelain figurines that I had lined up in the large glass cases. Then, the door opened less than halfway and a small boy nervously peered into the shop. "Okay if I look around?" He had a tiny voice and very tenatively headed towards the beautiful, expensive figurines. He was maybe 9 or 10 years old, he wasn't dressed very well, and it now became apparent that he had a deformity that kept his head bent awkwardly to one side. It seemed that his neck was fused into position. When he looked into the cases, he had to twist his whole body in order to view the items vertically. I asked him if I could help witha selection. He told us that he was looking for a nice gift for his mom, but he didn't think he had enough money for anything in the store. I asked him how much he could spend. He plunged his hand into his pocket and pulled out a handfull of coins and laid them on the counter. I counted and stacked the coins. There were about 12 pennies, a couple of dimes and a quarter. My dad and I looked at each other, and back at the little pile of money on the counter. "I've got just the thing for her", I said, and took a Lladro figurine of a sweet little boy in a nightshirt, executing a big yawn out of one of my cases. The piece was priced $45.
"Do you think she'll like this one?" I asked the child. He nodded yes, but didn't think he had enough money for it. "Sure you do", I told him. "I have a whole bunch of them in the back". I took the pennies and a dime from the pile and told him that that would be enough and that I would wrap it in my pretty gift paper. The boy took the elegantly wrapped porcelain and hobbled out of the shop. My dad and I couldn't speak, but as The tears rolled down my fathers cheeks as he gazed at me, I knew that every pain, every bit of anguish that I had caused my father to feel during my childhood had been permanently erased from his memory.

Comfort zone

It's -9 degrees in Chicago. I'm holed up in Bonita Springs, Fl. in a luxury condo. When I first arrived it was in the upper 70's and most summer like. Yesterday, the temp "plummeted" to the upper 50's. I was so bummed out, I couldn't take my usual walk (too chilly) CHILLY!! what in the world is wrong with me?? I observe that we adapt very quickly to comfortable situations. And we fight tooth and nail to keep our comfort. Even if that fight is in the form of a needlessly wasted day.