God Bless America Magnet

Friday, June 6, 2014

Father's Day. . . My Daddy

Do you have fond memories of your daddy? Is your daddy still living? Father's Day is a day that may bring up many emotional thoughts possibly good or bad. Possibly you are still making memories with your daddy. I can think of a few things that I remember about my father.

I have nothing but good memories about my daddy. Although, I know that he was not a saint, he was my daddy and I loved him. I also, knew that he love me.

My Daddy


I knew that my father was a Porter that worked at the train station in South Bend, Indiana. I recall as a young girl age 3 or 4 asking him why did he have to leave me and go to work. I never wanted him to leave. Also, I really cannot describe it, but the train station just had a distinct smell. My grandmother lived with him and would take care of me when he left for work. Also, we had a housekeeper name Cordelia and a roomer named John. Ardelia was very kind to me.


I can never remember my father raising his voice. I do, however, remember that he always meant what he said. Even though he stuttered, I observed this only occurred when he and my mother talked. Although he and my mother never married, he, my grandmother, and my aunt raised me. He always made sure that he took me to see my mother.

Stray Cat

I recall I always cared about animals. I found a black kitten. The kitten's eyes were all matted together. I asked my father could I keep it and nurse it back to help. I did just that. I recall always showing and instructing my father how to take care of the cat's eyes.


Although children today can go to the library or parent's will buy books for them to read, we did not have any books in our house, except the Bible. At age 3, I wanted so much to learn to read. I started reading the bible. I was not aware of any other books, until age 4 when I started school. I seemingly had a thirst for knowledge. I would ask my daddy what is this word and what did this word mean. He was patient and explained them to me.


My father always kept his hair cut short. He would allow me to brush his hair. When I wasen't doing that, I was trying to straighten my dolls hair with a real hot comb. I would put the hot comb on our stove, which was in the middle of our front room.


I recall my father always seemingly so calm. At age 3 or 4 I was watching TV with him, I bit him on the arm. I wanted to get a reaction from him to yell or something. I then told him I hated him. Even though I knew I did not. His response was, “Now Betty why did you bite me, you know that was not right.” “You know you do not hate me.” He never raised his voice, but kept talking to me, eventually I started crying and told him, “Daddy I am so sorry.” I thought to myself, I was just trying to get him to yell or something. For some reason the word “hate” was a strong word for me, because when my friend Valda and I would have misunderstandings, my first words were, “I hate her.”


I recall watching boxing on television with my father. He would sit and drink Pabts Blue Ribbon Beer and smoke a big fat cigar. Sometimes he smoked a pipe. The tobacco from the pipe would have a sweet aroma tobacco, but the cigar just stank.

These are great memories that I will always cherish about my father. I tell my children about the memories, so they can pass it down through the generations to come. Thank goodness memories can be cherished forever.What memories do you have of your father?

More from this author:

Will you share this article with a friend?

Follow Me on

No comments:

Post a Comment