OTASCO

When I was born, my parents had moved from Illinois to my hometown, and lived in a rental house on the North end of Cherry Street. For years, the house stood still, then finally lost it's battle to time and a city park. I remember driving by it once, with no recollection of my earliest years there, and someone had painted a mural on the front of it. It was a scene with tall grass and flowers.

I don't know how long we lived there, but I'm pretty certain that it wasn't too long, because I vaguely remember living in the second house, in the same neighborhood as the third. The second one was, as well I believe, a rental, but the third house Daddy bought. I think I can remember walking from the second house up the street to the third house. And I think it was in the third house that we welcomed home my baby brother, 3 years younger than me.

But when Mom & Dad moved from Illinois, it was on the advice of an uncle who had come to town to manage a local car dealership. "They say" back then, it was a big deal to manage a car dealership and my great uncle called his nephew, and said, "Move here. They have an opening for a radio dispatcher with the police and I can get you the job." And that was the beginning of well over 20 years Dad spent with the police department in my hometown.

But well before the 20 years, still in that first or maybe second house, was a family of three.

My Mom told me a Christmas story today, it was very short, she told me in less than two minutes. It was a story about a first Christmas, before the brother. So far removed, it almost seemed like other people, another family. But it wasn't. It was us. I don't think I'm going to blog it. Right now, it seems too private. But I will say that it could make a son remember that he loves his father. It was a perfect Christmas memory for my mom. And I'm very glad she shared it with me.