Retirement

When we first immigrated to America, my dad worked as a welder. He helped build the Clarendon subway station. That job helped him save enough to buy his friend’s liquor store in Baltimore. The hours were bad, so he sold that business and bought a carry-out in DC. He had to leave before dawn, but at least he got home before dark. Then, he started a printing store, which ended up going out of business. Finally, he bought a dry cleaners, and after five years, sold it and was able to retire.

Within our first seven years in America, my parents managed to move us from the basement of a stranger’s home to a two bedroom apartment in Arlington to another two bedroom apartment in Riverdale, then to a four bedroom house in Potomac. If I were to immigrate to a foreign country not knowing the language with two small children, I don’t know if I’d even survive, let alone end up owning a home.

After my dad’s first couple of months playing golf, gardening, and sleeping in, he got restless, bored and a little depressed. This was about the time I was starting my ebay business, so I asked him to come work for me. The pay wasn’t great, but the hours were flexible, and I could really use the help. He was excited for me. The entrepreneur in him coming back to life, he enthusiastically replied, “Oh sure!”

My dad comes over twice a week to take pictures, process them, and make trips to the post office. It keeps him busy, but not too busy. The work itself isn’t that interesting, but I can tell he likes helping me. He also likes talking to John when he comes home for lunch. They talk current affairs. Today, the topic was Japan.

My dad.

Processing pictures.

On his break.

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Published in: on March 25, 2011 at 7:36 pm  Comments (2)  

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2 CommentsLeave a comment

  1. I got teary imagining the camraderie between a grown woman and her dad. How lucky you and your dad are to have each other.

    • Many years in the making. Thank you, Ellen.


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