"My Dad, Your Dad, We "Dads."
In the old days, the butcher was considered a "break-down artist," proudly able to take a side of beef, cut it, chop and grind it. Through knowledge, practice and experience became a conduit for the housewife in assisting in the proper nutrition for a family. His body had to adjust to extremes of heat and cold that included stepping from the store to the freezer to the meat room and then outside. Another adjustment was the temperature and conditions outside, whatever the season may be. He worked from a butcher-block table with sawdust on the floor. At day's end, his boots were covered with clumps of sawdust, mixed with scraps that would fall from the butcher-block. In our home, Mom would give him the grocery list as I remember him "coming down through the back yard," carrying bags of groceries while maintaining his balance. I thought he was also the father to every dog in the neighborhood. They lapped at his shoes, sawdust and all. Like so many dads today, he championed the responsibility FOR his children. To all the Dad's, enjoy the weekend with special intentions to those special father's that may have unfortunately lost their son or daughter.
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