Happy Father’s Day!

I thought I would share some photos of Daddy and myself taken as I was growing up.

Daddy holding me while Mother looks on when I was very young, but I’m not sure how old I was. My parents were older and I was a “surprise” so I always loved this picture. They both looked so happy.

Me, about 1 year old, in our living room on the farm in Lovington, NM. I didn’t have a lot of hair yet, but Mother or Judy, my sister, always tried to put a hair ribbon in anyway.

This was in our backyard at the house we rented in Lubbock, Texas after Daddy quit cotton farming. I’m about 3 years old in this picture and it looks like it was on a Sunday before church. Look at those little white gloves and hat Mother had put on me! You don’t see kids dressed like that for church any longer! Daddy always wore a hat to church too, but took it off for the picture. He was about 51 in this picture.

This was in the backyard of our new house that Daddy and Mother bought in Lubbock. That little sycamore tree behind Daddy eventually grew to be a very tall, large tree. I think I’m about 4 in this picture.

Nearly every summer of my childhood we went to Ruidoso, NM for vacation. No matter how many times I asked Daddy to take me to the river, he would get up and take me. Up and down the hill to the river and back. Poor man! He had the patience of a saint in that respect. I think this was probably in summer of 1969 or 1970.

Daddy on a Father’s Day in the late 1960’s. He loved red carnations so we gave them to him every year. Mother always insisted he have his picture taken with his flowers. I think one year he finally said, “Inez, I think we have enough pictures of me holding flowers. Let’s not do this any more!”

This was in 5th grade and was taken before Daddy and I went to the Girl Scouts Father-Daughter Banquet.

I can’t tell you how many pictures we have like this of Daddy sitting in his chair over the years, either reading the newspaper, a book, or working on a crossword puzzle. This looks like the early 1980’s when I was in college, judging by the chair he’s sitting in and his snazzy eyeglasses. 🙂

Daddy, about age 90, and me. Some of our best conversations took place with me sitting on that old hassock next to his chair so he could hear me. I think that place right there is where I got to know my father best.

DADDY

Daddy was a good father.
He loved us and taught us
how to protect ourselves
and be independent.

He taught us the basic things
of life so we could make it on
our own and not have to ever
be dependent on someone else.

This included teaching us
car maintenance, budgeting,
basic plumbing, home maintenance,
and for me, helping me with what
was then “new math” homework.

Daddy is the one who taught
me how to overcome my
shyness and flirt with boys.
(He was good at flirting!)

Daddy drove me to my first
high school dance, even
when my mother disagreed
about me going.

Daddy always worked hard
outdoors in the elements.
His hands were rough and
calloused, but when he
patted us on the head to
tell us he loved us, there
was never a touch so tender
as his.

I watched my father go from
a strong, super intelligent man
to a tender, loving man who
took care of his invalid wife
for 15 years,
to a man with Alzheimer’s
who still had enough smarts
to disguise himself in an
attempt to leave a nursing home.

Daddy secretly helped others
whenever he could.
He called and visited the sick.
He stayed in touch with all
his cousins and siblings.
He worked hard at building family.

Daddy loved us.
He was proud of us.
He was tender with us.
He was tough with us.
He had the iciest blue eyes
in the world when he was mad.
I loved holding his hand and
telling him I loved him.

Daddy was a good father
and I thank God every day
for giving me such a good dad.