I really haven’t written about my oldest son, Joshua, for a long time.
I’ll explain why in a minute.Â
Ever since Joshua was little he had a knack for business. That kid could convince almost anyone to buy almost anything.
It didn’t hurt that, even then, he was handsome and charming.
When he was only 5 or 6 he picked apples, cherries and plums from our orchard, loaded his wagon with boxes of the fruit and sold it door-to-door to our neighbors and his best customers, his grandparents down the street.
He was pretty hard to resist, if I do say so myself.
Later he built a rickety wooden produce stand and sold produce from our driveway, along with lemonade or whatever else he found available in the kitchen.
When he got old enough to ride his bike off our street, he peddled to Allen’s Golf Course and spent hours searching Olney Creek for golf balls stuck in the mud. Then he washed them, polished them and sold the retrieved balls to golfers.
You might remember Joshua from some of my former newspaper columns, where, for almost a decade, you practically watched him grow up. You read when he learned to drive. You read when he graduated high school.
You read when he joined the Marine Corps and went to boot camp. You read about the time he wasn’t coming home for Christmas but somehow his orders were changed at the last minute. He showed up by my desk at work, decked out in Marine Corps dress blues, white gloves and all. There wasn’t a dry eye in the newsroom. Kleenex for everyone.
What I didn’t write in that column was my first thought when I saw the figure in military dress by my desk. I thought it was a Marine bringing bad news about my son.
You read when I said goodbye to Josh from the San Diego Naval Base for his deployment to Iraq. You read when he and his First Marine Division’s First Recon Battalion were among the first ground troops in Iraq.
Finally, you read when Josh returned home from combat, completed his four years with the Marine Corps and re-entered society as a civilian.
That’s when he asked me to not write about him anymore. He wanted his life back. He needed some space.
That’s why you’ve not heard much about him.  Not that I didn’t have plenty of material. He helped Bruce build the Cascade Theatre’s lobby concession bar, and along the way became a really fine woodworker. For more than a year he worked alongside his younger brother, Joe, and their cousin, Matt, as they helped Bruce build our house in Igo.
Josh took some college classes. During summer breaks he sometimes did road construction with a friend.
Most recently you may have seen him at Market St. Steakhouse, where he tends bar (behind the bar he built) in his friends’ restaurant.
Josh is almost 27 now.
He’s come a long way from the kid who sold produce to neighbors and golf balls to golfers.
Today I have Josh’s permission to write about him so I could share this news: Joshua is Food for Thought’s first advertising salesman.
You can see he’s already sold some ads. And he’s working on others.
If you’re interested in advertising with Food for Thought, my son, Joshua Domke, is the guy to call.
He’s new at this job, but he’s a quick learner and I have no doubt he’ll do just fine.
Besides, he’s pretty hard to resist, if I do say so myself.
To contact Joshua Domke call 351-2120, or e-mail him at domke_81@hotmail.com.
