How many of you readers have seen a number crudely tattooed on someone's wrist?

I have.

My father worked for him in the early 50s.

Later when I was older we had a chance meeting with the man and my father introduced him to me. Being summer he was in short sleeves. I noticed a tattoo on his wrist but for some reason said nothing which was amazing because I was a curious child.

Later I asked my dad. "He's Jewish," he explained. "It's a concentration camp tattoo."

"Jewish?" I asked.

"Yes he is," said dad. "He was at your christening. When I asked him to attend I could have knocked him over with a feather. He was the proudest guy I ever did see."

"He was at my christening? Don't you have to be a Catholic?"

"Not to attend the christening," Dad said. Then he laughed. "Afterwards at work he called me into the office and told me he should have warned him that Mom was Irish and you were the first of the generation. We had a good laugh over that one."

Years later when I went into the Army and came home and life had beaten him down I mentioned him. I was a new GI.

"Son, I was an angry man during and after the war until I started working for the Jewish man that attended your christening. Shortly after I started working for that man I gave it some thought. I'm glad I served."

I think maybe I'll post more about this later.  

To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY