We were very poor when I was growing up. 11/11/2016

The life was hard for my father,small in stature but the heart of a giant.He worked on railways,away for at least two weeks at a time,he would come home for long weekends,the pockets hiding little treats for all six children.Gentle and loving, he would gather me in his arms and I would kiss his weathered tired face and tell him I loved him.He would tell me in which part of the country he had been working,I would ask him when he would take me with him so that I could also see the far away places full of mystery.When you grow up I will take you,but you must be a good girl,help your mother.I do,I do, I feed the chickens and the rabbits and never let one out of the cage.And I go to the shop with her and help her carry sugar and flower.And have you learnt any new rhymes? I would recite for several minutes and then he would pull out of the pocket the chocolate.Oh,the chocolate,the treat so rare and every time I thought - had he forgotten,had he not remembered this time,it is so long coming.But he never forgot.My dear father,the kindest man who ever lived.He would bring other things,too - the odd fork, a knife,a spoon,a door handle or a hanger.Sometimes clothes,a pair of shoes.I found it, he would say.Oh,the world he had come from,where there were many things to be found.People must be so rich there that they do not miss them,they lose things and never have to look for them.One day I am going to live in a place like that.