I know we get tired of hearing about "the good old days", but all this talk
reminds me of my very early life in San Antonio. My parents had just moved
to town in the desparation of the depression. My father got a job as a
mechanic for an Oliver Farm Tractor dealealership(a small family owned
business) My Mom Pop & brother and me lived in a small apartment across the
street from the dealership since we did not have a family auto. This was
around 1940-41. One morning my brother was warming himself in front of an
open flamed gas heater and his pajamas caught fire and engulfed his lower
body. My Pop grabbed him(Dan was trying to run) and put out the flames with
his hands. The resulting third degrees burns on Dan legs required a long
hospital stay and my Mom had to be with him. My Pop had to work so he would
take me across the street to his job and I would stay with him. The owner's
wife and daughter-in-law did the books for the business and acted as
surrogate moms to me for that whole time. Being only 3 or 4 at the time I
barely remember bits and pieces of it.My mother and father worked hard to
hold things together, but they could not have done it without the kindness
of the people where Pop worked.

        It's weird.  To this day, when I smell the smells of a tractor
showroom I feel warm, safe and loved.

Bobby


>Don't forget your ever-lovin', long=sufferin' brother here south of
>you... lol
>
>Betty Alfred wrote:
>>
>> We build our neighborhoods from the ground up when a special needs situation
>> appears in our lives.  I'm fortunate in that my geographical neighborhood is
>> a main staple in my actual neighborhood as well, but I know that isn't
>>always
>> the case.
>>
>> I will never forget my first e-mails with Trisha when we didn't know where
>> each other lived, and discovered that we were right in the same city.  I was
>> thrilled!