Aunt Shorty & Uncle Chappy

My father’s mother died giving birth to my father, November 12, 1920.

My dad’s father Roy lived on a farm outside of Manhattan, Kansas and was already raising three children, my uncle Dale, my uncle Ronald and my Aunt Nina, the oldest. He was devastated by the loss of his wife. It was decided Roy was in no position to raise a baby, so Aunt Shorty and Uncle Chappy became his adoptive parents. Dad grew up just across the street from Kansas State University in Manhattan. He later inherited those properties and built a small duplex on that property in the 1980s that college students rented. He sold them for a good profit sometime in the 1990s.

I wish that I knew more about my father’s youth. He never talked about it, so I have no idea whether he had a happy or sad childhood. I do know that the family was strongly religious. They were not physically affectionate people. Both of my parents were not the hugging or kissing type, either, having come from that restrictive religious environment, but we never doubted their love. I do think that Roy blamed my father for his wife’s death, which made for a strained relationship all of my dad’s life. Roy also remarried a lady later in life my Dad described as a real bitch that did not get along with most of the relatives, including my dad.

Dad entered college just before World War II, got a degree in entomology (insects), then went to medical school at the University of Kansas in Topeka. He was drafted as an Army doctor during the war, but never saw any action as he was finishing his education.

My immediate family back then was not as close to Dad’s side as we were to my mother’s side, so I do not have as many memories of them. Dad’s sister Nina I knew best. She loved us boys and visited Green Bay many times when we were young children. I remember she held a Doctorate in Nutrition. I learned to love yellow curry and rice after she made it for us back in the 1950s. Sadly, for all of us, she died in her late forties of breast cancer.

I remember a weekend family reunion held in Manhattan in the late 1950s at the farm. I met my dad’s siblings and cousins for the first time. We all had a great time sitting on the porch of my grandfather’s farm. It is a shame that in ensuing years I have completely lost touch with them. I believe most of them now live in San Diego and other parts of California.

I also vaguely remember, at a very young age, an uncle named Harry in Manhattan telling me that he only ate breakfast and lunch, never dinner. I should probably take his advice now since he was svelte for a guy in his eighties.

It is funny the little details you remember from childhood.