When Father Was a Boy

For all of you who have heard family stories of having to walk to school, uphill both ways...and in a blinding blizzard...or other similar tales, this poem is for you. I don't know who wrote it, but it was one my mother saved in her things. She thinks it is one her mother saved.

Anyway...the pictures are of MY father...when he was a boy.

When Father Was a Boy

My father sometimes likes to tell how,
When he was a boy,
That chopping kindling wood was fun
And milking such a joy;
And how he'd hustle home from school
As fast as he could run,
And never think of playing 'til
Every chore was done.

He says he thought it was a treat
To pick the plums and cherries,
And even tries to make-believe
He liked to stem gooseberries.
But when he's telling of the time
When he was just a "kid"
And what a busy one he was
And all the work he did,
My grandpa he just sits and smiles
But never says a word
About what Father's telling
As if he hadn't heard.

But I'll bet you most anything
You'd mention, like as not,
Grandpa remembers many things
That Father's just forgot!

age 4



2nd grade



age 12