I Never Saw My Father Cry   I never saw my father cry. He said little about his pain, his sorrows, his unfulfilled desires. He honored his wedding vows (as far as I know). If he wished anything were different, he kept it to himself. He took his time, made no hasty decisions. I never saw him fritter away a day watching TV, or waste a perfectly good chance to fix whatever was broken. Most days he liked a beer after work, or a highball, but I never saw him drunk — not once. He had no peer as a marksman, filled the freezer with meat. He learned economics from the Depression — don’t buy anything new, don’t get cheated, don’t tip more than a quarter, don’t mess with lawyers or the IRS, don’t worship at the altar of mammon. I never saw him miss a Sunday mass, or hurt a living soul, or seek some other heaven.     © Michael Fleming Dummerston, Vermont February 2026