One Red Rose

For some reason I've been musing about my parents, Gladys and Earl Stewart, for a few weeks now. My Dad died in 1994 and my Mom in 2002. Theirs was a sometimes rocky relationship but they hung together and raised basically two families.

My two brothers and I were born in a small town in Indiana. I've always joked that we lived just on the wrong side of the tracks; since the railroad basically bordered our backyard, I doubt that joke is much off the mark. When I was ten we moved to Chicago where, after the initial culture shock, we thrived in the urban setting.

When I was 16, my sister was born and the second family was underway. By the time I turned 18, my brothers and I had left home either for marriage, school, or the military. My little sister became an only child with all the benefits and woes included in that role.

But, back to my parents. They never seemed to me to be particularly romantic even in the best of times but Dad rarely, if ever missed a valentines day. Now what that means is, on the day, he walked to the local convenience store and brought home one red rose. It wasn't much or well thought out but it was always there.

I miss them both and wish he could pick up that rose for her today. I know she always appreciated it.