Seventy Eight years ago today a little girl named Walene ran from her home in a small Idaho town to the one room school house where her sister was attending. She threw open the door and announced that their mother had just given birth to a baby boy. Her sister was mortified. The year was 1932 and one just didn't talk about babies being born in public and now here she was having it announced to the whole town.
That baby boy was my father. He weighed over 10 pounds and was the sweetest baby boy the world has ever known.
He grew up to be the best father the world has ever known.
When I was a teenager he started writing notes to me and that became a regular thing. He would leave a note on my pillow or dresser and I would respond leaving notes for him in his briefcase or somewhere he would find it. It was a lot easier to share things in writing than face to face and it made me feel important.
I had 5 brothers and sisters and as a little girl I would often sneak behind a living room chair and play by myself to get some time alone. I remember my dad coming back there and sitting with me once and I told him that I loved him. He said there was nothing better that I could say to him. I said, "How about I adore you?" He said, "Nope, I love you is even better than that."
I never wondered how my dad felt about me and I always wanted him to be proud of me. I still love it when my dad gives me hugs and love to see how much my children love him.
Happy Birthday Dad. I love you.
7 comments:
What a wonderful tribute. Dad, I love you too!!
Jenny, I hope you'll tell me what he says when he sees that picture...:)
So that's where you've been hiding. Happy Birthday LV.
Love the memories. That picture - well . . .
What a great dad! You are blessed!
What a sweet post!! Happy Birthday to your dad. So . . what does he think about the picture? :-)
Such a sweet tribute to your dad!
Happy Birthday, Jenny's Dad!!!
I remember the visit behind the chair too. I remember it being a Christmas day after things had settled down a bit and we were all at our own thing. Maybe we both remember because we were just being ourselves - lifelong friends.
Good picture. I feel that way a lot. I challenge you to use it on my funeral program. Maybe the mortician would fix me that way as well.
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