I think about my dad just about every day, but on Fatherâ€™s Day I think about him a bit more than usual. He was a refrigeration guy/maintenance guy and welder at a really dirty job in a dye factory. He worked hard at the place for years. He never complained, but he used to show me his callused, dye stained hands and he would say, â€œSon, look at these hands. If you donâ€™t want to have hands like this, you have to get an education (He always pronounced it properly â€˜ed-yoo-KAY-shunâ€™).â€
Many nights, after dinner, when the dishes were done, heâ€™d pull out his guitar and sing and play in the kitchen. If my mother and I listened, that was OK. If not, that was OK too. He was playing and singing for himself.
He sang almost exclusively country/western tunes, and this Hank Snow song was one of his regulars. I know Iâ€™m biased, but I believe he sang this one even better than Hank did.
I did manage to get the education, and the only calluses I have are from playing the guitar — like my dad. I sure miss him.