Paul Harvey....GOOD DAY!

When I was a little kid I went to work for a day every so often with my father, (it's the perks of being Homeschooled.) My father was a carpenter. he fixed up old worn out homes, he bid on them and then had to get the job done in the amount of that bid. This job allowed him to freely bring us kids along, the special fun times came when we kids got to join Dad on our own to help him work. I remember the smell of an empty house, the feeling of wet paint on my fingers and the dust flying when Dad piled up old Sheetrock, but what I really loved was his work radio was an old brown box, with paint splatters and cracked corners. It was on all the time, as Dad worked with his tool belt dangling and his cowboy boots stomping the open floor when he was on the move. I would often find a seat on the setup ladder or a 5 gallon bucket turned upside down. The Oldies music played most of the time, then  "Paul Harvey" came on through out the day, (the man in the radio) is what I actually called him. I loved listening to Paul tell stories about a pig rescuing a drowning child or a dog stopping a blind man from walking in front of a moving train! As I sat with big eyes and my mouth hanging open I would believe everything I heard, as Paul spoke with his very recognizable voice about the world's news and specialty stories. Dad often would have me help him work when he asked for the hammer I would grab it for him, when he needed me to hold a door handle from the other side so he could get it set in place, I did. Those where some of the funniest memories of my red haired father and his dark shaded eye glasses. Just by the sound in the way he walked, I knew if he was mad or not, Often when I went to work with him in the mornings he grumble about getting gas and his coffee. (We kids weren't allowed to tell our mom Dad drank coffee regularly, so we just thought THAT was a funny secret.) Dad had a mug with pheasants on it, with a brown handle. I would looked down into it with that fresh black coffee steamed out on those early cold mornings. I liked the smell of coffee the most, but I never wanted to drink it, for Papa Rudy gave me at taste once and I declared "IT doesn't taste like it smells?!?" Both Dad and his father laughed at my honest reply. My favorite part of working with dad was when those hours Paul Harvey came on the radio (and he came on 3 times a day) Dad would always turn up the volume and often wait until after the show to he used his power tools. 
I sighed dreamily as I said "I want a dog like that!" swinging my dusty legs from the ladder, I sat listening to another hero dog in the news from Paul, it had been another great dog story. Dad smiled at me stopping to say thoughtfully "I DID have a dog JUST like that..., but you will have to wait until we live somewhere with more room." I sighed again wondering how long will THAT be? I wait for the ending of Paul's show trying to figure out what was going to be his repetitive last line? I wanted to get it right so would it be "This is Paul Harvey...Good day." or would it be "This is Paul Harvey...and NOW you know the REST of the story." For one time I did get it right saying it just before Paul did, saying that last line to the radio program and my father laughed wholeheartedly. So I wanted to do that again making my father laugh always seemed like such a surprise, a good thing to see!  
When Dad stopped into the gas station for a refill on his coffee, he returned to his old solid brown Ford pick-up truck where I sat waiting, he often had a piece of bazooka bubble gum for me and as I chewed I would look at the wrapping paper with a cartoon comic on it. I had learned never to put in a request of something from the convent store. So if he got me something I would finally stop holding my breath. Dad loved to say "Be grateful, I even got ya that." If by accident I frowned. I was keeping files in my memory of the different types of memories that filled my life, I had this sense even as a small child of wanting to remember everything in my life. Sometimes my father's face had a look of horror when I spoke or shared what I remembered, he would deny that I could even retell some dramatic story, while he rubbed his head saying "How in the world?! You weren't even 3 years old yet? I think your making this up...?" But I could tell he knew that I wasn't.....So just as many bad things that happened in my life I think it makes the good times even more important. Maybe even "romantically captured" then it had actually been. 
  
My father drove with just one hand on the wheel, while sipping his coffee with the other. "Hey, Turn it up, that's our "man in the radio" talking right now.." He chuckled using my nickname for Paul Harvey, as I quickly rolled the volume dial to hear Paul's comforting voice say a bit louder "....An elderly lady from Virginia woke up to her cat licking her face, just seconds before her home went up in flames...." I leaned forward blowing a big bubble in my bright pink gum with a new big grin thinking to myself  
"Oh wow! an heroic cat! this will be GOOD!"  Dad just shook his head "Nope! We are NOT getting a cat.." I giggled as he must of seen my "wheels turning" in my head! We listened to the crackly radio program, as I looked out the window while Dad's pick-up trucked along the road onto the next job sight.