Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

The newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness around the world.

June 15, 2006

Fathers Day Stories

Today’s announcements

Happy Birthday goes out to Julia Mendels mendelsmaison@iprimus.com.au from her friends here at Storytime Tapestry:  

And a Happy Birthday goes out Surinder Jandu, surinderjandu@hotmail.com from all of us here at Storytime Tapestry.

We start the Fathers Day stories and poems today and they will run as long as there are stories in this queue.  So often, as a society, we forget the contributions that fathers have made to the lives of children.  Here at Storytime Tapestry, we celebrate fathers worldwide.

The poetry for today is presented by Linda Ann Henry, I want to point out that Linda just lost her birth father on June 6, and has submitted a poem to that affect.  Please keep her in your prayers.

Hi everyone...

David just called and said that he was heading to Cleveland because he got a call that she was getting worse.  Yesterday, the doctor's had thought that she may have a virus or food poisoning because the tests didn't show the graft vs. host disease, but today, her fever has elevated and her pain is severe enough that she's had to go on a morphine drip.  He's in tears as he's driving out that way, so please keep his safety in your prayers too... thank you all so very much.. God bless, Al

Now onto the good stuff!

Today’s Fathers Day Stories

~**~**~

~**~**~

ValueSpeak

A Weekly Column

By Joseph Walker

valuespeak@msn.com

THE RECORD THAT REALLY MATTERS

Joe Walker

            Speaking of home run records – and we have been, haven't we? – this seems like a good time to modestly mention mine.  In 14 years of organized ball (three years of Little League, one year of junior high baseball and 10 years of church league softball – which, come to think of it, only barely qualifies as “organized”) I hit a grand total of – Ta-Dahhh! – no home runs.

            That’s right: zero.  Zippo.  Zilch.  Nada.

            Not exactly Ruthian.  Or, for that matter, Aaronian or even Bondsian.  But at least my record won’t be broken.  Tied, perhaps, but never broken.

            The thing is, I sort of looked like a home run hitter.  I was usually the tallest and heaviest kid on the field.  Whenever I came to the plate against a team for the first time, the outfielders would take a step or two back.  Then I'd hit a weak little dribbler to the pitcher, or more often, I'd strike out.  By the end of the game, I'd come to the plate and the outfielders would sprawl out on the grass.  Or they would start jogging to the bench.

            The problem was, I was afraid of the ball.  No, that isn't quite right.  I was terrified.  Every time an opposing pitcher sent the ol’ heater my way, I wouldn't just step into the proverbial bucket, I would dive in and pull it over my head for protection (here's a tip for you kids reading at home: it's kind of hard to hit home runs from the prone position).

            Which is why I’m impressed with anyone who can hit a home run in any league. I don't really understand how you take a round bat and hit a little round ball that moves around like it's doing the samba while it's hurtling toward you at 95 miles per hour.  To be able to launch that ball into orbit -- again and again and again -- is an extraordinary accomplishment and a tribute to hard work, dedication, a little luck and the wonders of modern chemistry.

            But there is more to be celebrated here than athletic prowess.  As much as I enjoy watching gifted athletes perform (and yes, I know I’m ignoring the whole steroid issue here – that’s another subject for another column), I can't really relate to what it takes to be able to do what they do.  But I can relate to the concept of talented people doing what they do better than anyone else has ever done it before.  And I can be inspired by their superlative performances to greater heights of achievement in the things that I do.

            I'll never hit a baseball as hard or as far as Barry Bonds, but maybe I can be the Barry Bonds of fatherhood – at least as far as my children are concerned.  I can be as focused on what's going on in their lives as Barry Bonds at the plate.  I can swing at their problems like Barry Bonds going after a fastball, and I can be patient with their mistakes like Barry Bonds waiting for the right pitch to hit.  And when I make mistakes as a father . . well, once in a while Barry Bonds strikes out, too.  But then he comes back in his next at bat and smacks one into McCovey Cove.  I can be a father like that (uh, not the “smacking” part; the “comes back” part).

            Or I can be the Albert Pujols of employees (hard-working, determined, relentless, enthusiastic), the Chipper Jones of husbands (dependable, faithful, loyal, solid) or the Derek Jeter of friends (lively, exciting, fun, energetic).

            You won't see any slow-motion highlights of my late-night conversations with my teenagers on “SportsCenter.”  Nobody is going to offer me a megabucks contract for being there for a friend.  And the only thing you'll see in the newspapers about my work is . . . well, my work.  I may not set any highly publicized records for my efforts in the things that I do every day that are important to me and to my loved ones, but I'm pretty sure I can at least beat my personal best.

            And when it comes right down to it, that's the only record that really matters.

Poetry Section

~**~**~

MY BIRTH FATHER JUST DIED. HE WAS MY BEST FRIEND.

An Angel From Heaven

Linda Ann Henry

I know this angel from heaven

His wings were just made today

He was given roses, as he past this way

He was so very special

God made a plan for him only

For he was give a child of God

Who was made for his very own

For a short time, he was a father so true

She could call him anytime

He was there when she was blue

Now he is in heaven

A year time she knew his soul

Even though she cannot touch him

Or feel his loving face

This angel has a light shine down

In any given place

An angel from heaven

A gift from God above

For his words will follow me

In all I will ever do

A sweet reminder

I will have for my father, so true.

Linda Ann Henry

Do you remember me

The people's poet

Linda112319490@aol.com

Written for my real dad who died today 6/6/06.

~**~**~

My Guiding Light

Linda Ann Henry

Daddy, you are my guiding light

I am your daughter who loves you,

It is you I see when I am ill

It is you who helps make me well.

I love you not just for your kind heart

I love you for staying with me,

For never leaving me

all alone in the dark.

Daddy, I want you to know

I was a blossom you made grow,

You taught me about life

You gave me hope when I came apart

You lifted me up, gave me my start.

Daddy you are my guiding light

I feel your presence both day and night,

I am your daughter, that much is true

You are in my heart,

The only place for you.

Tonight I want to give you a kiss

Tomorrow may never come,

I will never forget you

For you are my shining sun.

Linda Ann Henry

Do you remember me

The people's poet

Linda11231949@aol.com

~**~**~

The Child Of Your Heart

Linda Ann Henry

Daddy, I am the child of your heart

When you first saw me

You loved me at once,

Everywhere you went, you took me too

That is when I gave my heart to you.

God blessed me with a father who cared

No matter where I came from

Or how I got there.

I went with you, all over town

We saw things together

There was such happiness to be found

You showed me life

As it was meant to be,

I opened my eyes, and I began to see

I am the child of your heart

I will be with you, when your life is done

I know you will wait for me, until I come.

Linda Ann Henry

Do you remember me

The people's poet

Linda11231949@aol.com

~**~**~

Will I See You In the Morning Light

Linda Ann Henry

Will I see you in the morning light

Will I hold you ever again,

I have always loved you

You are my father

I am your biggest fan.

Will I see your tear drops

In the morning light,

Will I ever see you once more

Your warm brown eyes, so bright

Will I see you beyond the rising sun,

Forever and a day

You have always been with me

For all of my days.

The first time you held me

I gave you my heart to keep,

Whenever I needed someone

You were there, so I could sleep.

Will I see you in the morning light

Or will the angels take you home

You have taught me all I know,

Dear father, God will forsake you never

If it is you time, I will let you go.

Linda Ann Henry

Do you remember me

The people's poet

Linda11231949@aol.com

You never know if you will see the morning light or if God calls you to heaven.

This was the last poem I wrote before my father died.

In loving memory to William Woodrow Henry, a great man.

Readers Feedback

A Single Fig by Carol Roach:  Most times when you try to make people in the developed countries understand the situations in your country they think it impossible and mainly compare same to theirs.  Whereas if only they could step out of their boundaries: Canada, USA or Europe, they would get to understand what great sufferings lies in underdeveloped countries.  Mina’s case is just a part of what we are going through here.  My fear is that this story could be implicative especially if someone of the opposite religion (not to mention) gets to read it. All the same I am happy for Mina as she has found a better life where freedom makes someone of her status (a lady) exercise her human rights and to live happily out of despair.

GEORGEWATERS OJEIGBE – Lagos, Nigeria

'A Single Fig' - imagine having to go to jail over eating a fig.  What an enlightening tale, and such a good experience for you to meet Mina.   Well done Carol, I enjoyed reading this very much.  Gabrielle Morgan.

Carol,
   I am so glad that you put this one on Storytime.  It is such a great
story.  I hope to hear more about your new friend one day.  Wishing you
every joy, Joe

This is neat about Glen Miller. Jene

Carol,
   Thanks my friend for running SEVEN DAYS in Storytime today.  It is always
such a joy to be a part of this huge family of writers and readers.  I hope
that you have a wonderful weekend full of every joy, Joe

SOMEONE TO TAKE THE BLAME:  I enjoyed this story because it reminded me of my school days and how I took the blame (His Pains, Not Ordinary Pains – Once featured in Story_Time Tapestry) of my school son upon myself.  I am glad that someone also was my replica somewhere out of my continent.

GEORGEWATERS OJEIGBE – Lagos, Nigeria

Whiskers by JOYCE C. LOCK: Wonderful story!  I realized that animals are souls who cannot speak and whose physique is designed not to smile, not to roll eyes etc but they all have our minds and feel what we feel.  They speak to us in their own understanding.

GEORGEWATERS OJEIGBE – Lagos, Nigeria

Senior Writers

Chief writer: Sharon Bryant

                                     Chief researcher/historian: Hartson Dowd

Agee, Vance; Apted, Violet; Baker, Kathy; Batt, Al; Berry, Nell; Blaine, Pamela; Boda, Ginger; Booher, Paula; Buhagiar, Victor; Cassady, B.J.; Cavalera, Robyn; Crider, Mark; Deming, Barb; Doherty, Maria;

Dowd, Hartson; Gilbert, Robert, Jr.; Goodier, Steve; Braun-Haley, Ellie; Harris, Kathy Anne; Henry, Linda Ann; Hunt, Sharlett; Hymes, Christina; Jacobson, Gary; Kiser, Roger Dean; Kerens, Claudia; Kevin, Tim; Jenkins, Pamela; Liles, Norma; Lily Jodi Flesberg; Lock, Joyce; Marlor, Janice Bumbalough; Mazzella, Joe; Morris, Deepak; Ojeibge, Georgewaters; Petry, Dianna Doles; Roberts, Susan; Shiveley, Debra; Shaw, Bob; Sims, Richard; Streidel, Saskia; Swarner, Ken; Vaknin, Sam; Verhoeff, Jan; Walker, Bill; Walker, Joe; Warner, Gordon, K; Walsh, Sue; Weymouth, Barbara J.; Whirity, Kathy;

Wainland, David; Westerfer, Clara; White Robert;

Storytime Tapestry Staff

Carol Roach - Founder/publisher

Thelma Hartselle - Co-Founder, Moderator

Clara Westerfer – moderator

Bob Johnston - moderator