My Father Was My First Client
Bedtime stories were normal growing up for my little brother and me. My mother told me when she would pull up in the driveway of our home in Palm Springs, CA, I would run to the door in my walker and wait for her. She could barely get in the house! Although tired from working a nurse's shift, she read my favorite book to me at night: The Cat In The Hat. She was so tired, that when I looked away, she would skip pages. When I turned my head around, I flipped back to where she left off! Poor mom. When I look back on my childhood years, I don’t recall my father reading to me at all. Around 2nd or 3rd grade, I asked my mom why didn’t dad read to us.
“Well…” she hesitated. “Your father struggles with reading.”
"Why?" I asked sadly.
“We all struggle with things. His is reading—but he’s good with his hands and learned to make a living.”
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