This post made me remember my daddy, who was a GP, too–a fine country doctor in every sense of the word. He even had to deliver a baby in a barn trying to rush the mother to the hospital on Route 42 between Broadway and Harrisonburg. As he was delivering the baby in the back seat of his car, the farmer walked by, waved, yelled, “Hey, doc!” and kept walking. Or so the story goes.

I had to giggle at the description of “shot night.” With six kids, daddy had plenty of opportunity to try new medications out on us. I used to sit next to Daddy at dinner. He always smelled of that alcohol. I would give anything to sit next to him and that smell just one more time.