Father's Day

Hudson and Barbara Kent 

Happy Fathers Day. Five kids and shift work at the paper mill would have done me in... My father organized the cans in our pantry by height and expiration dates––he knew their prices through the years by heart. At camp, he'd pick up kindling and make sure each stack was of equal length and thickness. I never saw him mow the lawn or shovel a walkway. On occasion, after an 11:00pm - 7:00am shift at the mill, he took us kids to Razanno's for grilled blueberry muffins slathered in butter. Once, our mother brought us to town and he leaned out the window of the brick building where he worked and waved. On the 4th of July, he'd load the family canon that his stepfather made. At 9pm, Dad would light the fuse and run like the dickens. The crackling report ricocheted across the lake off Tumbledown, Little Jackson, and Blueberry Mountains then back to our beach. My brother Fred continues the tradition. Dad smoked Kent cigarettes and wore Aqua Velva––I never once heard him swear. Each day for work he'd make a cheese sandwich with A&P mayonnaise on pumpernickel bread and wrap it in waxed paper. I don't recall what else he took to eat, but he placed his daily meal in a wicker lunch basket. Two things I know he'd appreciate today--his son still has his lunch basket and his great grandson has his name.

Hudson Stephen Kent

Dad's lunch basket