Tuesday, August 24, 2004
Roots
My Dad, in 1943, at age 7. Dad's parents (below) were poor and lived in Dorchester, the Bronx of Boston, then mostly Jewish but now mostly African-American. Dad's father, a lovely man, had a severe heart attack when Dad was 10, one of many bad breaks, and worked as a fruit peddler. Grandpa was proud of Dad's education and read almost every book Dad ever brought home. Dad's mom stuggled with poverty and with the tragedy of losing a child; she deeply believed socialism would lift up the poor and make the world a better place. She deprived herself of everything, even medical attention, to put Dad through school.
Me and My Holsberg Grandparents:
Unintentional Humor, Part 3
From my friend Pat, Sign Syntax Gone Awry...
In an office:
WOULD THE PERSON WHO TOOK THE STEP LADDER YESTERDAY PLEASE BRING IT BACK OR FURTHER STEPS WILL BE TAKEN
In another office:
AFTER TEA BREAK STAFF SHOULD EMPTY THE TEAPOT AND STAND UPSIDE DOWN ON THE DRAINING BOARD
Outside a secondhand shop:
WE EXCHANGE ANYTHING - BICYCLES, WASHING MACHINES, ETC. WHY NOT BRING YOUR WIFE ALONG AND GET A WONDERFUL BARGAIN?
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