I think about my dad just about every day, but on Father’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, “Son, look at these hands. If you don’t want to have hands like this, you have to get an education (He always pronounced it properly ‘ed-yoo-KAY-shun’).”
Many nights, after dinner, when the dishes were done, he’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 I’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.