As we focus on this season of gratitude, I hope to write briefly about something I am thankful for every day.
Daddy was 42 when I was born. I never remember him with hair on top of his head (except for an ill conceived toupee during a brief episode in later life). He was a railroad worker all of his life, finally reaching the status of train engineer. His great love was sports, especially football, which he played and officiated for 60+ years. And although I do not have an athletic bone or muscle in my body, he also dearly loved me.
My mother was the dominant personality in their relationship, and Daddy was home off-and-on at odd hours due to the train schedules. But he watched my attempts at basketball and softball, and he listened to me practicing things for school and sharing concerns I had about life. Yes, he was always there for me. And after my mother died, I tried to be there for him. I would go see him each afternoon after school, working the visit in after a hectic day and before spending time with my own family after that. He always was delighted to se me, and I learned so much about him that had been previously overshadowed by my mother. The six months I had with him before he passed away were a gift.
Daddy passed on memories and mementoes of our family and gave us all lots of love.
I am so thankful.