Happy Birthday Daddy!!!!

Today Daddy would be 84....Happy Birthday Daddy....may you Rest in Peace...Harold Leslie Bibby is his name.

I never got to know my father as a senior citizen, he died when he was only 34.  I always wondered what kind of grandfather he would have been.  I always wondered how he would like the spouses his children chose.  I always wondered what it would have been like to have lived with him the rest of my childhood and have him to filter out the "crappy" men as he used to call the men who were bad.

Daddy was a young man when he became a father, and he was even younger when he went to war.  He became who he was because of the events in his life and these events colored his life at times.  In reality he was a man, not a super hero, or magical person, but to me he was everything I could want as a daddy.  I never got to the "Dad" stage of our relationship, he was still daddy to me when he died.  Even my mother would tell me he was my daddy, not my dad, she said he never got to be anyone's "dad".

He had left Michigan during a financial crises for our family and made his way to California to try to get a job to help us.  It was a bold thing to do in the early 60's and he was criticized for it badly.  He was a Marine who had been trough two wars and and kept fighting his way to support his family.  He loved us all, and yet struggled with the responsibilities that came with being a father of six kids and not having a job.  He did what he had too, and my Mom said that she understood and forgave him for any of the troubles it caused her.
Now that I am a senior citizen I think of all the tragedy that I have endured in my life and wonder how I managed to get here.  I wonder if there would have been less tragedy if Daddy had lived and we grew up in California.  That is just a wonder.

Happy Birthday Daddy....hope you are having a kick ass day with Mom, Rose, Bobby and Billy.......I will love you always.

A Pivotal Moment

Today in 1963 became a pivotal moment for me. My father was killed in an automobile accident on the way to the airport to pick up his whole family for the new life he had prepared for us in California.  Daddy was only 34, yet had served in two wars and was the father of 6 children at his death.

This was in 1956 but there was only 4 of us at this time.


RIP daddy, I will always miss you

I Really Did Make It !!!!!

 1950...no hair, Mom was horrified I would be bald.

My father carried this picture that Aunt Janet took of me at 3 in his wallet till he died.  I was 13 he he was killed.  Mom said he so loved the picture that he had the current year's one over it.

By God, I made it.  It is a reality that I can say with certainty I am always amazed every time I wake up on this side of the grass.  What confuses me is is why.  I can not figure out why me.  Today I turned 62, but I started out this year with two brothers and before the middle of this month, I had only one.  Harold is the only brother left of four, and my sister is also gone.  The weirdness of this does befuddle me.  Why me?  I have been in a morgue, and died on the surgery table 4 times, but I am still here.  Have I done something wrong and must pay for it by watching my family die?  Or is it as Mom said, "You are the one to tell the truth."

The truth teller.  What truth should I tell?  Should I tell the whole, real truth about my family, warts and all?  Or should I tell the varnished truth, just bits of the story that have been carefully selected?

As I sit here going through old family photos, I wonder why I am doing this anymore.  The people in these photos are almost all dead, just one or two left.  The grandchildren and great-grandchildren of my parents don't even know who these people are.  I have spent over 40 years collecting stories,  records and documents to write the story of my family.  But which family do I write about?  The family that was poor, happy but intact before my dad died?

 Mom and Dad 1961




Or the new family that was formed after my father was killed, just Mom and her kids? 

Bill, Harold, Bobby, Rose, Sooty and Tiger  1963.  My favorite picture of my little brothers and sister.

Dennis and Mom 1963.

Ironically all the people in the above pictures except for Harold, are gone.  My heart breaks with sadness at times, but I also cherish all of them forever, even when bad things happened between us.





  Or the "UNBLENDED" group that was the result of my mother remarrying a year and a half later.

Christmas Eve

Mom and Dad 1958

Christmas Eve is always a bittersweet night for me since 1977. 

I used to love Christmas Eve especially after 1960. In 1960 we were waiting for Santa with bated breath. It had gotten dark early that night, and my little brothers and sister were getting excited because Santa was due. He was really coming to our house.  We were all a little sad though, because Mommy and Daddy were not there.  Mommy had gone to the hospital to have a baby on the 19th.  Robert Paul was born, yet back then ( I know, the way back machine, women were allowed to stay in the hospital for about a week after having a baby)  Mommy was not going to be home for Christmas... at least that is what I thought.

There was a knock on the door, and when my brother opened it up, we had the delight of our lives. In walked Santa!  But the biggest surprise was when Santa walked over to me and handed me my Christmas present first.  Wrapped up in a Christmas stocking with a little cap was a beautiful doll, or so I thought at first.  It sure was a doll, a living doll, because Santa gave me a real baby, Robert Paul by name.  I looked into that beautiful face and fell madly in love ... and stayed that way forever.  I ran into my bedroom with him in my arms, and got out my doll crib to see if he would fit. He did.  Well I figured my Christmas was as perfect as it could be.  But it wasn't over yet.

Santa was being jolly and giving out presents to my other little brothers and sister, when there was another knock on the door.  The kids were so excited they fell over themselves to get to the door and were screaming with delight because in walked Mommy and Daddy.  As far as we were concerned we were in nirvana.  After we hugged and kissed them, Mommy asked where the baby was, and I asked her what baby? She said the baby, Robert Paul, that Santa had brought in to surprise us with.  I said you mean the beautiful living doll that was given to me for Christmas?  She said yes.  I told her I had put him down in my doll crib to nap while all the excitement was going on.  Mommy looked rather shocked and looked at Daddy who broke out in hysterical laughter.  Santa was cracking up too.  The little kids had no idea what was going on, just that everyone was happy.  Daddy asked if he could see my new doll and I told him if he was quiet he could see him.  He went to the bedroom and cracked up, Robert Paul was sound asleep in my doll crib (which was a handmade wooden crib that my grandfather had made me the year before, it was built like a rock).  Daddy asked if he could pick the "doll" up and I told how to do it safely, (support the head and put him in the "roock" of your arm).  My father had a wonderful sense of humor and humored me and walked into the living room with my "doll".

My father walked into the living room and started to give the baby to my mother, but stopped short and asked me if it was okay for Mommy to hold my "doll".  I told daddy "Don't be silly Daddy, Mommy made him for me."  I am not sure who laughed the hardest, Santa or my parents.  After some questioning my parents realized that I *believed* Santa when he said that the baby was my Christmas present.  After this realization they had to have Santa find my "real" gift, which was a baton, which I had wanted, *BEFORE* Santa gave me my "living doll".  I relented and let Mommy have the baby, on the condition she would share him, which she did till 1977.

Bobby 1966

Christmas 1966

On Nov. 2, 1977, my living doll, Bobby was killed in a car accident on the way home from school......I will never stop loving him and seem to always shed some tears on Christmas Eve for him,  My Mother told me that each Christmas Eve she would remember the lovely story of how Bobby came home.  She told me before she died, it was one of the most cherished moments in her life, because after all I was only 10 and trusted Santa and my parents, so believed anything they told me.  Mother said that the man who played Santa was a member of our American Legion and would tell the story for years afterwards.


Bobby loved his first Christmas story ....and so do I, even if it is bittersweet.  Bobby would curl up in the rocker with me and ask me to tell him the story every year...it was our special story.


I hope everyone has a wonderful Christmas Eve story for themselves.