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Lonely is the Home Without You
The Poem I Read at Dad's Funeral
Dad's Obituary
Published in the Florida Times-Union, August 21st, 2007
Announcement
Mom had these cards made up for the funeral guests
Special Mass
Neighbors Holly & Barbie dedicated a Mass to Dad
Special Mass 2
Mom's Friend Charles Prince and His Wife Dedicated a Mass to Dad in Wisconsin
Special Mass 3
Our Friends the Connelly's and the Rozo's Dedicated a Special Mass to Dad
Uncle Jack's Poem
My Uncle Jack wrote a poem he dedicated to Dad
Nephew Peter Robinson's card
Mom received an outpouring of sympathy cards from around the country
Dad's Tree
Dad had a tree planted in his honor
Dad's Star - Who left the light on? I did!
I had a star named after Dad for all eternity
Macon Football Team 1944
Dad is on the upper right, #55 (17 years old)
Macon Basketball Team, 1945
Dad is standing just right of the coach
Dad always loved a good restaurant
Good Times at Applebee's
Mom & Dad with 2 of their 9 grandchildren
Mom & Dad, 2001 with Nicolina & Sydney
1 comment:
The one story that sticks out in my mind is the magic fingers story. I guess it's because my parents told it over and over when we were kids, and it never got old. It was always good for a laugh.
I don't tell it as good as my folks, but it goes something like this.
We were traveling on our family vacation. Back it those days, a lot of the motels had a vibrating bed with a coin machine next to the headboard. You put your quarter in the slot, and the bed would vibrate you to sleep. The name of the machine was "Magic Fingers". Dad loved 'em. They put him right to sleep after a hard day on the road.
One day, we checked into a motel as usual. Dad checked us in, and the pretty young desk clerk politely asked Dad if there was anything else she could help him with.
Dad said, "Yes. Do you have magic fingers?" The clerk turned beat red. She looked at Dad, looked at Mom, and was totally speechless. Mom laughed out loud and quickly jumped in to help. "He wants to know if you have those vibrating beds in the room that you stick a quarter in. They're called "Magic Fingers." "No, we don't," she replied sheepishly.
Off we went to the room. "You shouldn't ask her that. She didn't know what you were talking about Harold," Mom said outside as we unloaded our luggage.
"Well, that's what they're called," Dad argued. "They're called 'Magic Fingers'." I must have heard the story a hundred times, but I still laugh today everytime I think of it. I bet the look on that young clerk's face was priceless.
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