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By Connie Bedgood
When I was seven years old, we had the first Christmas tree in the neighborhood with miniature lights that flashed off and on.
My two brothers and I received more gifts than most kids.
We were spanked more often and much harder, for sure.
Little league football and baseball were our life for ten years along with church, skating, fishing and swimming. Our dad might have missed one, two games—might have.
Every year during inventory, Dad worked overtime to provide school clothes for all three of us.
Dad taught us to ride motorcycles, roller skate, and fish. We were not allowed guns or skateboards—fifty years later we are still not allowed.
Our dad read the Bible to us every night.
When the bills were caught up, Christmas came along and the bills multiplied. Our dad had to rob Peter to pay Paul all the time.
Our dad worked hard all day, but always had time to practice football plays in the den or pitch baseballs in the back yard.
You know how it is—we bragged how our dad could beat up other dads in the neighborhood.
The thing is, we really believed she could.