Thinking of my father who was born on this day of May 13th in the 1920's and died in 1995. If truth be told, a big part of him died the year after I broke my wrist (as seen in the copy of a anapshot which is posted atop this entry) during the summer of one of my elementary school years, for he moved out of our house after the following summer.
Brittle bones are a consequence of having Neurofibromatosis (NF) and I mention this because I was born with this condition and the month of May is designated as Neurofibromatosis Awareness Month.
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At the moment times have been more challenging than ever what with a dental procedure that I've been mentioning here on Blogger; on going issues with my eye-sight, new pain from NF and dealing with consequences of the coronavirus pandemic.
But getting back to my father, I am mortified by the efforts I made to be close to him once he moved away and for a good number of years to follow, instead of going on with my life.
Even his sister tried on my behalf and concluded he did not want to be around me because I was a reminder of his failings.
Sad, sad times but they weren't always that way as evidenced by the photos of yours truly with him as a young child.
On another note, he had an amazing ability to cut people off and during a recent experience with someone who seems to have cut me off, I wish I had inherited that trait as it would help with my emotional pain.
Admittedly,, he did have a quick wit which I seem to have inherited and I'm very grateful to have that survival trait.
R.I.P., Albert Loth Youngquist.
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