When I was growing up, my dad caught the 7:50 AM number 78 bus to work in New York City. Tie and jacket on, day after day, and year after year, he found his seat on the ten of eight. Like most families in the 1950's and 60's, we had one car. Some days, when either the weather was bad, or circumstances dictated, my mom would pile my sister and me in our car and we would drive to meet my dad on the highway exit for the 6:30 PM 186.Otherwise, it was the 78 that brought him home to us.
Your dad would have loved this.
Aleveh shalom.
love this--RE
This is beautiful