The previous post told of how Franklin Delano Dwight Schmidt’s name came to be. His grinworthy and blogworthy anecdote revealed him to be a natural storyteller, so I pressed for more:
“Tell me, Frank, what is the fondest memory you have of your father?”
“That’s easy,” he said.
I stuffed my surprise at the certainty of his instant response. He started his story without missing a breath.
“My father emigrated from Germany during the ‘20’s. Those were grim times in Germany. He arrived here with nothing, and he was poor most of his life but not poor of spirit. He had a love of music and that is what drew my mother to him. She was a pianist.
“My memory is that we never owned a car because we couldn’t afford one. There did come a time when they had saved enough money to buy a car, but they didn’t.”
To good effect, the master yarn spinner paused, inhaled, and let go of a long sigh.
“My father decided to buy a piano instead.”
His whole face began to glow as a smile, spread from his lips, and softened his whole face.
Early on I learned there was an interplay between practicality and spirituality, and that personal priorities are established after negotiation between the two.