Both of my parents died young but at least my father was with me throughout my childhood. He was the one I would go to if I wanted permission to do something, as my mom was far more likely to say no. Although I grew up on a farm and there were plenty of things that needed to be done, he made sure that I had plenty of time to be a kid, unlike some of my uncles. Throughout elementary school, which went through the eighth grade, my friends were cousins. When I went to see a couple of my cousins about going to the river, the woods, or someplace fun, there was always the risk that we'd both be put to work instead. My dad never did that to me. Oh, there was work to be done but he never put me to work when one of my friends came over for some other reason, and when he put my cousins to work, he paid them, so we all tended to meet at my house. He was also the Boy Scout leader and Little League manager, As for favorite memories, there are many, but I'll give you a memorable one. There was a guy who lived across the river from us. Since his last name was the same as mine, I'm sure he was related to me in some way but I've never been sure what the relationship was. Anyhow, dad had several horses, and the river formed the boundary of the pasture. Because it was a river, although a very small one, that was what the horses used for a drinking supply, so there were no fences there. The horses seldom crossed the river, but they would once in a while. Rather than calling my dad to come get his horses, this guy would call the sheriff's department, which I'm sure was embarrassing to my dad because we never saw the police unless they were looking for someone, and that wasn't very often. The deputy sheriffs were on a first name basis with everyone anyhow, so no actual trouble ever came of it but it was unnecessary, since this guy only had one horse, so his field wasn't used for anything, which is probably why the horses would go there sometimes. I won't go through it all, but this guy was a real jerk to everyone, including his own parents, who lived across the road from us. His own mother had to sue to get her house back after he sold it while she was in a nursing home temporarily after a stroke. Anyhow, this guy called dad sometime after midnight one day to ask for help. His horse had gotten hung up with two of his legs on one side of a fence, and two on the other, and was scared and kicking. Although dad had to get up to go to work in a few hours (besides farming, he had a day job at a ship building company), he went over there to help. I went with him. Dad knew horses, and was able to get it free without being kicked, although it looked pretty scary to me. On the way back, I asked him why he would go over there after midnight to help someone out who has never been anything but a jerk to him. He said that wasn't the horse's fault, and it was the horse that he was helping.
I have a lot of good memories of my dad in service to others. He participated a lot in civic organizations and various boards in our city, the church, and the county. I still have vivid flashes of fishing trips we took, as well. I also have fond memories of him coming home from 'camp', which was the two week period he'd drill with the National Guard each summer. He worked for them full time as well, but it was always exciting seeing the trucks coming down the street and knowing he was coming home. He would always send each of us a postcard while he was gone, as well, and I still have most, if not all of them.
I consider my foster Father my Dad - because he was everything a Dad should be When I joined them, they had 4 boys and I, the only girl My happiest memory was when he arrived home from work, the boys would rush to him, clinging onto him and he, with a big grin would reach into his pocket for the sweets - happy times ........ My real Father - I do have some fond memories, but he let me down big time
My dad was a lovely dad and a super family man. He was a gentleman, he was modest he was kind. I never heard him say a bad or even mildly negative word about anyone - in stark contrast to my mum who loved gossip, especially if there was some malice involved. I remember this strength of my dad's - not gossiping about others - and it's something I try to emulate. When my daughter, Sorrel, was 5 days old my parents visited and saw her for the first time.Their first grandchild. It was a lovely day. Lots of photographs were taken and when they were developed we noticed that my daughter had his eyes - green, almond shaped, with a slight slant. I have blue eyes and Sorrel's dad has brown eyes. My brother David has the same eyes as my dad and Sorrel. Dad died when Sorrel was 9, she still has 'his' eyes and I see him in certain expressions of her eyes. She, too, is one of the least judgmental and gossipy people I know.
Another great memory of my foster Dad was he loved to entertain us and his rendition of Frankie and Johnny =
@Patsy Faye - thank you, he was a lovely man. He was called Albert Henson, here's the photo of him with Sorrel on the day I talked about, she was 5 days old - 23rd August 1984
@Patsy Faye - she's a strapping young woman now, taller than me and very curvy. Dad died three months short of his 65th - so young. He'd be 88 now. My mum lost out on 70% of his pension fund because he died 3 months short of the then retirement age. He realised that would happen in his last weeks and worried so much about it. @Ike Willis - thank you. It's strange, but even after 32 years I can still remember so many things about those first few days with her. How protective I felt and how perfect she was to my eyes. She still is of course! But I'm biased.
My Dad (I call him 'Tatay.' Its the equivalent word of father in Tagalog, the popular local dialect spoken in the Philippines.) was my best friend. I really miss our talks sitting in the couch in our home and talk everything from news, family matters and even gossips (lols!) We share the same passion for music, educational readings, the community and most specially my mom or Nanay as we dearly call her. I'm an open book to him as much as I also knew most of his thoughts and agenda in life. That is why when he left us almost 10 years ago, its as if my right hand was cut off and I lost a limb. I soooo miss our daily talks.
@Patsy Faye - it's painful, 23 years after he died, to think of him worrying during his last days. My mum was bitter about it all her life after that. Not the loss of money - but his worries. She died in 2011 still angry at ************, who he had worked for since he was 14 and had carefully built a small private pension for them starting when they got married when he was 26. He didn't earn a lot and they had gone without each month to build a careful future. Mum only got the 30% after a long battle.