Ode to my Poppi job
My dad was a wonderful man. An introvert who was happiest when he was home with mom and the rest of us. Father to seven kids all born about a year apart. He was goofy soul and I have no shame (dare I say a little pride) in having inherited dad’s goofiness.
Well, there was one thing my dad was famous for. We call them “Poppi” jobs. A Poppy job was a household project that after many months or years of procrastination finally got started. And that was about it. Bless my dad’s heart, he never learned how to repair or fix things and basically had neither aptitude nor interest in doing things like that. Oh, and when things were half-way started and stayed that way for years it never really bothered our dad. It’s like he didn’t see it. How can something bother you if you can’t see it?