Can you ever go home again??

I grew up in a small town. I worked in the local restaurant and at the local drug store soda fountain. One could learn a lot by listening. At first I believed everything I heard and then I realized those who would gossip and talk about others were often the most fowl of humankind. I have no use for them.

Dad managed a dog food company in town. It was a small, independently-owned company.

A non-union manager, Dad retired when the union was voted in to his company. It wasn't so much the fact the union was voted in, it was the half-truths and out and out lies that were used as propaganda that tipped the scales toward retirement.

When it comes to unions, I shrug my shoulders and say, "Oh well." I have never paid union dues. One of the newspapers where I worked had a union for the pressmen, not for the reporters. The university where I worked had a union for the clerical employees and faculty, not for the administrative employees. Other places I worked were small non-union businesses. So I offer no opinion for that which I have no experience.

What I do know is Dad always went to bat for his employees. When he was offered a raise and no raise was offered to the hourly employees, Dad tendered his resignation. This was done quietly with no fanfare. I doubt Mom and Dad even knew that I knew. I heard he and Mom working on the letter one evening. That was about about 15 years before his retirement. Obviously the employees got their raise as Dad never quit.

According to the union, Dad had a home along Lake Michigan on "Millionaire's Row." Truth is, Mom and Dad scrimped and saved, sold their home in town, moved to an apartment and built their home along the shores of Lake Michigan -- paying as they built -- for a grand total of $34,000. But that, as they say, is water under the bridge.

Friends and neighbors who came to the visitation when Dad passed away commented on his generosity.

"You always knew if you needed money for a school project or for the year book, you could go to Don Stehower and Dog Life for help," one former class adviser said.

That's true. But what no one knows is the money came from Don, not from Dog Life. And we often ate macaroni and cheese while Mom adjusted the household budget. We had horses that came from my aunt. Hay came from my uncle's farm. Our pool was dug by hand and a cinder block pool would be considered primitive by today's standards. Dad built the pool's filter himself, bartering a load of horse manure for the fine sand for filtering the water. Mom kept the water sparkling clear with household bleach. When the pool was first built, neighborhood kids would call and ask to go swimming, Mom and Dad always obliged. Our barn was built from recycled lumber and the leftover lumber from the barn was used to build one hell of an awesome tree house. Mom sewed most of our clothes.

Except for the mean-spirited gossips and the idiot who broke into Dad's office, stole two saddles and shit on our family portrait (and yes, we know who did it), life was pretty good. In fact, it was a great life. Our parents worked hard to make it fun.

Would I ever go home again? Well, you can't recapture the past . . . but maybe for a visit.