Dad, Cher and Lassie

I spent my early childhood in a small town in Indiana - Winchester.  My Dad was born and raised in nearby Marion, Indiana. 

When I combine memories of Dad and Winchester in my mind, the following are a few of the search results...

I remember Dad coming home from work for lunch on occasion.  His office was close enough he could do that.  He always wore a suit and tie, and smelled clean.  I remember him walking on his hands in our small, family room.  If I threw-up, he called for Mom because it would make him faint or throw-up.  When I was home sick from school, he would come in my room after work (in his suit, still smelling clean), ask how I was feeling, visit, and give me a sticker book.  That was a big deal then.  If I bought him a Marathon Bar he ate the entire thing like it was the best gift he'd ever received.  He always accepted the occasional offer of bubble gum and chewed it with me.  We both liked to watch the "Sonny and Cher" show - because we both liked Cher. 

I loved the "Lassie" show which usually aired while Mom and Dad were cleaning dinner dishes.  The end of the show had Lassie sitting with one of her front paws lifted, her hair gently blowing in the wind, while the Greensleeves melody played in the background.  I cried every time.  It was Dad's job to listen for the end of the show so he could turn it off before the dramatic, but predictable scene played.  He rarely timed it right.  The music would start.  Mom would yell, "Hurry, it's the end of Lassie!"  Dad would come jogging around the corner to turn the television off.  "Chrisy, don't cry.  Lassie's not hurt.  She's just saying goodbye."  It didn't matter.  If I'd heard even a couple seconds of the music or Lassie's little whimper, I was wrecked.  Killed me.  I think it kinda killed Dad too.

Happy Father's Day Dad.  I love you.