Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

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

June 22, 2006

Fathers Day Stories

~**~**~

Dads Day

Bill Walker

wildbill6807@yahoo.com

Thinking about Dads day, or as most says Fathers day leaves me with a few things that grates on me. This isn't going to so much about Fathers day more like a few of my grates. 

I think every one knows about my feelings on men setting at a table eating a meal of some kind with a hat, cap, or something on the head.  I think it looks stupid. It really looks stupid with a woman setting at the table with them.

I also have the grate about not opening the door for the lady and carrying her packages and such.

Now I was reading what some fool said about his old man.  Let me tell you this was something I about blew up. The old man, the old lady; what kind of respect is that? In all my years of speaking of my Dad, and my Mother, I would never say the old man, or the old lady.  They are my DAD, and my MOTHER; GOD bless them.

Now there is another thing that really grates on me, maybe even more so then calling dad the old man and calling mother the old lady.

I have heard people say this, "The OLD MAN upstairs."  I guess they are referring to GOD.  Well now that is sure lack of respect.  He is GOD, our FATHER, he is not to be called the old man upstairs.

I rest my case.  Thanks DAD for the good times, I miss you.  Happy DADS DAY.

Tinker and Poo; The Boys Write

http://www.iuniverse.com/bookstore/book_detail.asp?&isbn=0-595-35741-5

~**~**~

I WUV YOU

Sharon Bryant

I've thought about writing this for several days now.  I thought about how I'd begin.  I've thought about how I would end it.

I thought, "How should I begin this with my first sentence?"  "Ladies and Gentlemen or Once Upon a Time?  Maybe To Whom It May Concern?

I've decided against all those.  I will write what I feel and what I am thinking tonight as I type these words.

Dear God,

In 1946 on a cold snowy day in January, You brought a life into this world.  That was me.  Maybe I haven't told you enough times how happy I am that You sent me into this world and gave me the parents I had.

You sent me to a beautiful woman with auburn colored hair and beautiful green eyes.  She was short, but she was spunky.

You sent me to a wonderful man who had wavy dark brown hair and beautiful brown eyes.  I always thought he was the best looking man I had ever seen in my life.

Thank you for sending me to the parents I had.

You see God, I've been having some problems lately.  I miss both my parents, but losing dad was so hard.  When mom died in '82 of cancer, dad was all my siblings and I had left.  I felt so bad when mom died.  There I was with a little baby and a two-year-old.  I wanted them to always know their grandmother.  I wanted them to have the relationship with my parents as I had with my mom's and dad's parents.  I didn't get that.  Instead, I had to tell my children stories of my childhood growing up with their grandmother.  I had to keep her alive in their heads even though they were too young to remember her.

On the other hand, dad was able to stay on earth longer.  Every chance he had, he took it to tell my kids a story about my life when I was a child.  My kids loved hearing stories like that.  I was so glad they had several years with one grandparent. 

I remember dad's favorite words to me as I was growing up was, "Listen up gal."  Whenever he said that, I knew I was about to learn something new.  I couldn't get enough knowledge.  I listened to every word he ever told me.

Even as a young teen he would always tell me to be me.  He said to never try and be something else, just be me.  And to protect me, he told me to never depend on anyone but myself.  "Don't depend on some Knight in shining armor to come riding along on a white horse," he would say.  "That Knight can run off in the middle of the night, and if you don't have something to lean on, something to survive on, life will be hard."

When my so called Knight found another Maiden and hiked off in the middle of the night with his pregnant friend, dad told me, "This is what I always warned you about.  He wasn't worth it, get past this and get on with your life.  You have your whole life ahead of you." 

Dad had never been divorced.  He didn't know how that felt.  If he saw me down, he'd say something to brighten my dad and lift me back up.  "Chin up gal, there's plenty of fish in the sea, something will come along and you'll find much better than you had."

He was right.

When I brought the present "fish" home, dad liked him immediately.  "Now there's a guy who will work with you, who's not lazy, and you'll get somewhere in life with this one."  He was right.  Dad loved him as much as he did me, I think.

Dad was always there.  I don't care how tired he was, how little time he had for himself, if I came up with something, he would listen.  "That's not a bad idea," he'd say.  "Let's try it."

I remember the year I was ten-years-old and he said after dinner one night, "Would you like to go to the theater with me next Friday?  I can get us tickets to see the play, "Bye-bye Birdie."  He said we'd be getting home late.  I think that's why I went.  I wanted to go to school on Monday and tell everyone I got to stay up really late Friday night.  We went and we laughed our heads off, but I was one tired kid on the way home from that play.

When I was eighteen and just graduated and wanted to join the Peace Corp, dad said, "NO!"  "Why not?" I asked him.  "Because I don't want you going out of the country, that's why." he said.  "I want you to be my secretary and do my books and payroll and learn how to take care of a business."  I was running his whole office very well that summer.

I couldn't have asked for a more caring father than you gave me, God.  I couldn't have asked for a more handsome one.  I couldn't have found anyone else that loved me as much as he did nor I him.  Mom used to say, "You're your father's right hand.  You can do things I wasn't interested in.  Dad's proud of you, and so am I."  Words like that just pushed me more to do my very best.

Last year when I drove the 900 miles to see dad, I saw him aging.   He still hand that twinkle in his eye, but I noticed it bothered him to climb stairs.  I saw him favoring one foot.  I asked if he was ok, and he said, "I'm fine.  I'm just getting old."  That's when I began to worry.  I was afraid the day would come I wouldn't be able to pick up my phone and call him anymore. 

In January when something told me to go see him, I couldn't get there fast enough.  Something kept nagging at me, and I listened to the feeling.  What that you, God?  Were you letting me know I needed to see dad just then?

As long as I live, I will never forget what happened.  It was my birthday week.  I had spent almost three full days with dad and was on my way back home.  By some miracle that rarely happens, the four of us, my brother, sister, dad and myself were together.

I took several photos.  Something told me to.  I knew.  In my heart I knew I'd never see dad again.  That's why when we were all saying good-bye, I put my arms around his neck and hugged him and gave him a big kiss on the cheek and said, "I wuv you dad."

He gave me that raised eyebrow look with that twinkle in his eye, and looked at me and said, "Oh yeah!."

When the radio/phone chirped while we were on the freeway going through Indianapolis, I saw my sister's name on the screen.  But when I heard the voice on the other end, I knew.  I knew dad was gone.  I went numb.  And again, that feeling of a fist jamming my heart hit me again.  Like it felt the day my son died.  The day mom died.  The day my brother died.  And then........dad.

God, It's Father's Day this coming Sunday.  For the first time in 60 years, I don't have a father here on earth to buy a gift for.  I don't get to make cute cards for him like I always did.  What am I going to do God?  How will I get through the day?

Would you tell him I love him?  Would you let him know that though I can't see him or hear his voice, my love has never lessened any?  Would you tell him every single night since that day in January of this year, I sleep with his shirt on my pillow?  Would you tell him that I'll be coming too, I'm just not sure when.

Thank you God.  For listening to me and for giving me the man you did that was my dad on earth.  Just let him know I am living the way he always wanted me to.  I am doing the work he always hoped I would.  And let him know that on this Father's Day, I will hug his photo and kiss it and whisper, "Dad, I wuv you."

Sharon

~**~**~

                                                "Father May "I"?

                                                Paula Booher

Traditionally a daughter has one father and of course we are born to one biological one.  I am no different of course although I Am blessed with having been raised by more than one male figure in my life that taught me many things I would find very useful.

I was born to Melvin Dean Roe and he was my first Daddy.  The one who gave me life and taught me how to play and stand on my two feet from crawling to standing then onto walking.  He is alive and well today at the ripe young age of 71.  He was with me for the first 5 years of my young life.  At that point he and my mother divorced.

A few other gents entered my picture but were short lived.  Then entered Carl Broom who lasted only three years.  He really didn't leave much of an imprint or teach me anything more than how to dodge furniture, the art of climbing out of windows in the middle of the night, and my first introduction to alcoholism and the affects of it on humans.  I was thankful "he" only lasted for about 3 years.  I was 5 to 7 and half for those years old and in the 1st and second grades.  I remember changing schools and moving twice.  The actual facts are a bit blurred except for my yellow bucket full of toads which I referred to as "My frogs", the ball park across from our brown house on the corner, and the railroad tracks next the two story house up the same street where I got the spanking of my life for playing on the lawn mower when my mom was at work.  She drove home to catch me on it.  My brother was pushing me back and forth on the porch.  It wasn't running of course but she was fuming mad and Her engine was running hot!  My backside got mowed That day...

Back to the theme of this story...fathers...

The next father figure was Harvey Pendleton.  He lasted the longest in my life and he was the man I considered to be my Dad if you will.  Only because he Taught me the basics of life during my formative years from 8 to 13.  Not because he was nice to me or because he was friendly or kind.  He was none of those things.  He was brash, hard, cruel, mean, and down right ugly.  He was an alcoholic, hard core, no nonsense, to the point, DO IT MY WAY, and there is No Other Way kind of guy, backhand you for Anything & no explanations necessary!  Harvey was the best and worst thing to happen to me and my little brother & sister.  From the start it was a love/hate relationship.  We hated him but our mother loved him.  Or she loved him and we thought he hated all of us.  It was really hard to define what was going on from a child’s' point of view.  Mainly we stayed confused.  In the meantime we learned how to plant a garden, raise chickens, pigs & a calf, can the goods from the garden, gather berries, mushrooms, nuts, and other goodies from the woods.  We learned to fish, hunt, and forge from nature and live off the land in general including how to cut wood and process whatever we needed. Then we would recycle what we didn't need by giving it back to nature by replanting seed each year and composting.  While the town kids had the modern conveniences of running water and indoor toilet facilities we had to pump water we ran for and the outhouse we ran for also at other times...lol

Harvey’s' mother, a small older Indian woman, taught me how to quilt by hand with the tiniest of stitches, make homemade recipes of many varieties, and conjure up remedies for about everything that ails the body while learning to read the bible.

I could pick out the beatings or the fact that I was molested and harbor bitterness... yet I Choose to Praise God for all the wisdom and knowledge I gained from a childhood full of wonder and amazement.  I was raised a strong and healthy well rounded person that became a compassionate adult.  That's the miracle of Gods' Grace.  It had to be Him all along guiding my steps and watching over me or I Would harbor negative feelings.  We don't always understand why bad things happen to the innocent.  Sometimes we Don't have to.  Our attitude or how we React to any situation is the KEY to our success in the life we are given.  Anyone can complain and wallow in self-pity.  It takes special angels to help us rise above the clouds of despair and see what Can Be instead of what should have been.  Life is not perfect...it is What you Make it. 

I had the privilege of having many Dads.  Some kids have no father figures at all.  My most important Father has become Father God whom I serve each day with my whole heart.  He has shown me how to forgive and live my life to the fullest even when I don't "feel" like it.  Feelings are fleeting.  Roots are what matter.  My roots are deep within my soul in Him.  I know myself to be strong only when I am weak. I'm not so wise till He gives me wisdom.  Time is irrelevant unless it is spent with love.  My riches are in glory divine.

The only thing I've really learned here is:   "If we can't get along on earth then how will we Ever get along for all of eternity there?"

copyright 6/16/2006 8:56 a.m.

Paula Deann (Roe) Honeycutt Booher

wrappednword@yahoo.com

bio:

A Missouri gal born and raised I still live in the Center of  America area.  I'm just in the southwest part of the state now.  I started out in a little known town called Stover.  Springfield is my home, just north of a little place we refer to as Branson.  I'm the mother of six youngins'.  One is in heaven, three are here with me, and two are my stepsons, (one of which has graced us with a beautiful granddaughter [my husband is the actual grandparent, I'm much too young to grandparent Any child at 48, he's 42...LOL).  Writing has replaced my talking So much in this life I suppose.  My family and friends have taken some relief in that and they seem to enjoy the peace and quieter...lol

Many thanks to Carol at Storytime Tapestry for taking me on.  The fam wishes to send her a giant reward...they are planning to ship it post haste just as soon as they figure out what the shipping cost will be and How to raise the money.

HAPPY FATHERS DAY.  Remember Dads come in all shapes and sizes and they are Always full of surprises.  My best friends father walked me down the isle when I married my first husband.  We married and divorced 3'X's. It's all going to be in my book.  "Riding In The Rumble Seat" due to be finished later this summer.  When it'll be published is anybodies guess.  That's all for Now!

Readers Feedback

Carol,   Leeuna is a gem; a tremendous writer.  I wish she were here so I could wrap my

arms around her and kiss away her tears.  Isn't that what dads are for?

Peace, Ron Gold

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; Dowd, Helen; Gilbert, Robert, Jr.; Gold, Ron; 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