A niece, Carol Meeking from Dallas, has been emailing my five siblings and me photos, letters, news clippings, sermons, etc., dating back more than a century from my late mother’s keepsakes.
Until I saw the pencil-scribbled letters on lined paper from my sixth-grade-educated dad to my ninth-grade-educated mom, I didn’t appreciate Guy and Faye Sloan’s great love affair.
The 1940s letters also reveal my carpenter father’s sly wit.
Here are excerpts from when my dad had to work in distant cities to support some of their eventual six kids in Mt. Vernon, Texas.
“I will close with all my love to the one I love mostest.”
“I’d be tickled to see you, and that bunch of white-headed kids.”
“Give my little darlings a big kiss for me, for I really do miss them.”
“Honey, I will be looking for you by Saturday, so don’t take much time but come on.”
“I dreamed you were here last night and was disappointed when I woke up.”
“I was going to send you some photos I had made, but I look so much like I was drunk, you might think I was.”
In one letter he discussed earning $56 a week, buying bonds in my mother’s name, diagrammed a house he’d rented for $75 per month, and ended with: “This isn’t a letter, it is a newspaper—ha ha.”
To see the complete letters, friend me on Facebook at “Wendel Sloan.”
Happy Father’s Day.
Contact Wendel Sloan at email@example.com.