When I was a little girl we regularly had liver and onions because my dad would give blood and Mom was trying to get his iron back up.
Let's just be clear, I hate liver and onions to this day, however, since I was 18 years old I have given blood. I always thought it was just what you did because it was what Dad did. This year I was told I can't give blood for at least 15 years. I thought I handled it pretty well when I was told in April.
This brings us to today, the 2nd of the blood drives we have at work each year. Giving blood has been a way for me to feel close to my dad so I was feeling pretty sorry for myself and was a bit snarky about it.
Then I looked over at a bin on my desk and saw these:
For my family this will not require explanation, in fact they are probably laughing right now. For the rest of you. My father was born in 1933. He was one of 10 children. He grew up in extreme poverty. They lived in tents, the back of a pick up truck, one room shacks, chicken coops and various other assorted structures. Paper was a luxury.
Up until he died he never used a complete napkin. That was wasteful. He would take his napkin and tear it into 4 pieces, use 1 and leave the other 3 in a pile. When he passed there was a large pile of torn napkins on the table.
Thanks Dad for the memory. I love you!