This is a photograph of my father, Clifford Hewitt, Jr., holding my sister Kelly and me. (I am on the right.) c. 1968.
My parents divorced when I was 4 and the arrangement was made by the court, common back then, that I would see him every other weekend and six weeks during the summer.
Dad remarried and became stepdad to four children around our ages. One of those summers, I remember clearly the six of us standing outside his workshop garage with our hands extended: we wanted money to buy some candy at the nearest 7-11 store (a two-mile walk away). He gave us each a dime; .60 to get rid of us for the entire afternoon? Deal!
After several of these dime-excursions I remember my oldest stepsister, Jenny, demanding on behalf of all of us that he up the ante to a quarter each. The price of candy had gone up, see, and the four-mile round-trip walk wasn’t worth a single Pixie Stick.
My dad passed out the quarters cheerfully.
($1.50 for several hours of uninterrupted time was still a deal, and he knew it.)
I recently came across this photo of my dad, taken in 1986 when he was just 53 years old. (He is holding my little brother, William.)
Dad died 9 years later of a massive heart attack at just 62.
I miss him.