Join Me for the Second 'Story Weekend'!
I was delighted with the response to my first Story Weekend last weekend! I’m so glad you enjoyed sharing your thoughts and hope you’ll join me in doing so again. We’re still in the experimenting stage, so I’m sticking to my three rules:
- The story must be true.
- Try to keep it under 100 words. That’s about six or seven lines in the comment form. I want others to read your story, and most people tend to skip if it’s too long. I know how tough it is to “write tight” but I hope you’ll accept this as a challenge.
- Avoid offensive language.
It was easy for me to come up with the theme for this weekend, since Sunday is Fathers Day. So our theme is ‘fathers’, and I’ll start the ball rolling. Have fun!
Dad and Mom shared a room at the nursing home. Dad’s bed was next to the window and he often claimed he could see wild turkeys outside. We humored him. After he died, Mom’s bed was moved next to the window. On Mom’s last day, my sister sat at her bedside, holding her hand. Their eyes were suddenly drawn to the window where outside, a turkey stood, patiently watching and waiting.
Gave me goosebumps!
Dad was the first civil rights editor for the LA Times and perhaps for the country. One time he had to cover a KKK rally. For some reason he was with either a photographer or another reporter who was black (who was, of course, told he couldn’t come in). Dad objected and they both were booted out and for awhile dad was writing obits. Dad predicted the Watts riots and when they happened the newspaper brought us back from a vacation in Mazatlan because Dad was the only one who knew the players.
I had the best dad, he passed away in 2000 suddenly and I still miss him every day. We worked together, travelled together as a family, ate out together, went and saw movies together, he took us to NYC as kids to show us Broadway and the arts. He was such a wonderful man and on this Father’s Day I will honor him and just say I LOVE YOU DADDY!!!
I wish I had Father’s Day memories. My parents split when I was two, and my father passed when I was 14. It was a strained relationship, but I loved him. On Father’s Day I tend to think about my dad… what might have been what could have been and hoping he’d like who I have become. He might not be with my physically, but he is always in my heart. Oneday when I have children of my own I look forward to creating the Father’s Day memories I missed out on when I was a child.
I puttered around the kitchen as my dad played with my 18 month old daughter in the living room. He had come to visit while my husband was out of town and I was mesmerized by the transformation of my dad into grandpa as he played with my little girl. I suddenly raised my head as he gently called to her. I was stunned. “What did you just call her, Dad?” He looked confused as he responded, “Angelface. Why?” I stared at him and said, “Did you hear me call her that?” I had called my daughter that nickname from birth, not ever really knowing why. But I didn’t think I had called her that while he was present. My dad smiled and said “Honey, I called you that when you were a baby.”
My dad was a carpenter most of his life. He could build a house from the ground up. The smell of perspiration and sawdust is one of my favorite odors. He could also draw. He drew life size drawings of Bugs Bunny, Yosemite Sam and the Road Runner on our bedroom wall. I think he was the smartest man I ever knew. But with all this, he could not spell a lick. He passed away November 26, 2003. I miss him still, but I know he visits me sometimes.
My Dad is the greatest, still going strong at 87. He was born and raised in Kentucky, with poor parents and hard times. He tried to give us more than he had but not so much to spoil us. He is a very smart self educated man and has made sure all three of his children went to school and tried to get us to graduate. I was 52 when I received my diploma, Dad was there. He has always been right there to encourage us and we know that he is proud of us. Thanks dad.
My dad was a quite man who loved to fish in his spare time. I didn’t know much about this man I called my dad until he lived alone after my mom went into nursing care for dementia. Parkinsons kept him unable to take care of things so I offered to help. What a blessing! I learned so much about him during that time, including the fact he thought I was a good fisherwomen too. Miss you Dad and thanks for the time you gave me.
My dad was a veteran of WWII and emotionally distant throughout my childhood yet I can still remember wrapping up three year old arms around his scratchy woollen trousered leg while he placed his nicotine stained hand on the back of my head, pulling me closer to his love and the life that he had lived. Love is tactile. Love is touch. It is the rock of ages tempered by the face of innocence.
When we were learning to swim my brother used to put us on an inflatable matress and take us at the deep of the sea. We were all wearing inflatable Donuts. One day my brother jumped from the matress raising his hands and went straight to the bottom leaving the donut on the surface. My dad dived and grabbed him from his hair (the whole incident lasted maybe two seconds). After my mom asked my brother if he saw something. He said “I saw the hand of god who grabbed me from my hair and pulled me up”. Yup it was my dads hand.
My dad passed away in 1990. It was the saddest day of my life. Being an only child, my daddy and I were very close. He was such an awesome father. No matter how busy he was, he always took the time to play with me, and talk to me. When I was 11, he surprised me with the dream of my life, a horse. He actually brought him into our front yard, rang the doorbell and stood there smiling early on Christmas morning! When I was only 9, I baked a chocolate cake, and he made me so proud by slicing it and using it on the buffet at the country club where he was manager. That’s the kind of dad he was. I am so grateful to God for giving me a dad like that….
My father passed away on Nov 11th 1946, it was Armistice Day in England.
So every year when the wreaths are put out at the Cenotaph I think of him
I was only 10 when he passed away. He didn’t even get to celebrate the first
memorial of World War 11 being observed. He was a good man, I was his
only daughter and youngest child.
Daddy passed away April 01, 1989. I was 23 years old. He was my rock and I still miss him every day. I love you daddy, and until we meet again, watch over me. P.S. let me know if you like Scott.
Gene was bigger than life. Wearing a suit & tie Mon-Fri, but shedding those grubs as he walked in the door at 5 each night; replacing his attire with jeans and a straw hat, ready to jump on his prized tractor and mow 20 acres of prized farm land. Love for his garden added to his bliss and hugging his beloved dogs was never forgotton. Was he a ballroom dancer? Oh Yes, that too! A world traveler with a laugh that outshined anyone I knew, what did I love most about him? Everything.
My dad was a great one to recite the works of Rudyard Kipling and other writers who spent “there time in Indjias sunny clime”. As my dad was stationed in India part of the time during WWII. Next Saturday we are going to inturn my mothers ashes with him, and I have one of their fav poems ” The Little Yellow God” to recite during this moment. It will bring back to us our love of listening to him and how much we miss this about him…
My dad was a nice, quiet, gentle man who worked as an appliance repairman for Sears and his territory was Miami Beach. Those privileged people were always giving him things for his children, and my favorite was a wooden playhouse. He brought it home in pieces and built it back up for me. It had windows that opened with window boxes and built-in cabinets and a table that swung up on an arm to hold it up. The best part was the cement porch he made for me inlaid with pieces of colored ceramic tile some of which formed my name. I was blessed to have my daddy for 45 years and still miss him dearly.
My dad was the greatest man I’ve ever known. Despite a rough childhood, growing up in the foster care system, he lived life with joy and laughter. He played Santa for every church function. He was Willie the Clown for picnics. He was loved by all but none more than we four children. It’s my biggest sadness that he’s never known his grandchildren. One night, when my daughter was around 3, she pointed to a picture of my dad and said “that’s the man”. My sister, who was visiting, and I look at each other and asked what man. She said “the man who was in her room.” A little freaked out, I asked what he was doing there and she said “he was smiling at me.”
Favorite memories: Sitting around the piano at my grandparents’ house in San Bernardino singing oldies at the piano with Dad (Paul Weeks), and brothers Keith and Ken–Over there, Nothing could be finah than to be in Carolinah, Mary, Old Mill Stream…Fewer and fewer folks I know remember those old songs…
My dad was a smoker all his life. He repeatedly attempted to kick the habit, but within a short time he was usually back at it again. However, he hid that fact from my mother by smoking sereptitiously. One day she found a tree in our backyard on fire. After putting it out with a hose, she had to laugh because she found the stubs of cigarettes in a hole in the tree. She always knew he had resumed his habit, but she played along. They both died of lung cancer in 1997.
thanks everyone for another successful Story Weekend!
His expression was of total awe with a touch of anxiety as he held my hand firmly in his and I wasn’t certain if he was reassuring me or I was reassuring him. He took everything in at once, his anticipation growing stronger every moment.
Completely exhausted I had to rest, but as he gently wiped my brow he quietly said, “We’re almost there, just a little longer.” Although spent, I again focused and was greatly rewarded when I heard him say, “A boy, we have a beautiful baby boy!” When he held our son for the first time I saw his beaming face was filled with joy.
Although it was 43 years and one month ago today that my husband became a father, his pride is still apparent when he looks at our son today.
Happy Anniversary, SSD!