Sing For Me Daddy Comments

Growing up a depression child, I remember seeing men sit back on their haunches, using a stick to draw a California route in red dirt. I heard one grunt, “there’s work out there.” After they left, daddy picked up his guitar and sax and joined up with a country-western dance band passing through.

Daddy could play every instrument by ear, could write songs in his head all the time. Momma figured he’d thrive, that during times of numbing poverty, people would pay a dime to dance away despair.
He did, became a “fill-in” and sent money home from towns across
...
Read full text