The Sum Of Two Halves Is A Whole

I was reading some papers that I came across as I cleaned out my father's room. In them he wrote down memories that he held close to his heart. Memories of his childhood, through his time in World War II, and when he and mother were married but without children. I read them and was amazed of what a boy from Wann, Oklahoma accomplished. I marveled at the stories of his time in the Army Air Corps, and his contribution to D-Day.

I then started thinking about my grandfathers. Sigel, my dad's dad, was a cowboy turned farmer. He drove cattle up the Chisholm Trail and later broke sod so he could plant. He lived through Oklahoma becoming a state, the Dust Bowl, WWI and WWII and other wars, he went from driving cattle to driving a Chevy. He help forge history as he went about his daily routine.

Then there was John, my mother's father. His name is all over Knob Noster, Mo, as he and his father ran the brick factory there. I guess today those bricks are collector items for those who like collecting bricks. He also mined coal, my ma was a true coal miner's daughter. I remember him as a big man with a big laugh and smile. He was a lover of books, a trait handed down to me.

So this Thanksgiving day, and everyday, I'm thankful that I grew up in the family I did. Two families, miles apart, but united by the love of Bessie and Robert. Two families that different traits are combined in me to make me who I am today, and I must say, they came together nicely. May those that come after me say the same about me.