Growing up was not easy. It never is regardless of what generation we are talking about. As a boy my clothing was primarily hand-me-downs from my cousin Norman. I wore them proudly.
"Dad was good time Charley". He hung around Moores Tavern on Nazareth St. in the "Village". The "boys" all sat at the "Bullshit" table that was in front of the bar next to the telephone. Dad's nickname was "Doc" because in those days he was a pharmaceutical representative.
Mr. Lesperance was the manager of HFC (Household Finance Corp) and our neighbor at one time in St. Lambert. He and his family had moved to Greenfield Park around the same time as we did. As many families were, ours was indebted to HFC. Dad's social activities had the family fortunes stretched to its limit and beyond. Food was scarce. Then one evening Mr. Lesperance showed up at our back door on Campbell with a trunk full of groceries, he walked in, dropped them on the kitchen table and said to Mom "don't worry, when you are back on your feet come and see me" and he left.
I never saw him again nor did I ever have the opportunity to say "Thanks"
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