(The little boy’s story in the poem is true and a time from my own past.) This Christmas Season of 2014, I was thinking of my Father. This poem mentions him several times. I remember how dirty he was when he came home from work when I was a little boy. My Father was an iron and steel worker.  After he came home and took a bath, my Mother would then attempt to clean the ring out of the bathtub from his bath.  Many times with close to a half hour of scrubbing, she still could not get it out.  In those days, my Father made about a hundred dollars a week.  He worked very hard for that money.

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