Not Quite Recovered

This morning I woke up early, so I decided to write down some of my Thanksgiving weekend thoughts.

My fiance Tim finally met my Dad. I think he likes Tim more than me. Dad showed Tim his rifle collection, insisted he ride up front with him on the way to dinner, and told him more about his Navy days than he's ever told the rest of the family. (Apparently Dad once kicked a shark in the nose in the Bahamas)

While other Americans were in Vietnam, my father was deep sea fishing in the Keys and in the Caribbean. Not a bad route to go.

My grandfather had a little "side business" during retirement. Living near a number of golf courses, he would collect discarded balls. He'd then clean them, put them in egg cartons by the dozen, and resell them. I remember seeing that handmade sign out by the road of their house as a child. When he became too inactive, Dad took over the tradition.

He taught our old black lab "Blackie" to retrieve golf balls to help with the venture. What I didn't know is that Dad has gotten himself out of a few situations with golf course owners and managers. Or that he wears camouflage hunting gear to go out "balling" and he'll go to great lengths not to get caught.

According to him, he's known as the Ball Hocker.