Remembering Daddy

Daddy would have been 101 years old on September 13.  My memories of him are vivid.  On the day my brother was born, I became Daddy’s girl, and I remained that way as long as he lived.  My mother and I were the only two girls he had.  A few years after he died, I wrote some words that captured the picture of Daddy that I will always keep in my memory.

“The white metal swing sits still under the water-oak tree, attached to the frame of an old swing set once used by all of the grandchildren.  It’s rarely used now.  Somehow it doesn’t fit - or suit- anybody any more.  He used to sit in it at the end of an afternoon in the garden.  He sat in the middle of the swing, both arms across the back of the seat, gently pushing forward and backward, never really moving his feet off the ground.  Dressed in overalls and brogans, always with a hat or billed cap, he’d just sit, staring into space or holding a hose and watering a few plants.  I used to wonder what he was thinking.  Often he would sit until the sun went down, just enjoying the cool breezes that were always present on the top of the hill.  If we drove up while he was sitting there, he always broke into a grin, called us over to sit beside him for a minute, always commenting about how his garden was growing or what I’d been doing that day.  We always pushed the swing harder than he did, but he never said anything about it; just sat there, swinging along with us.   The swing sits still and silent now.  The breeze pushes it occasionally, but it’s not much fun now that he’s gone.  No one sits there anymore.”

David now owns the swing.  He refurbished it and hung it on his covered patio. I’m glad somebody still cares for it.

And in October, 1991:  “How Daddy would have loved this baseball season!  I can see him now!  He always wanted the Braves to win-and this year they’re doing it.  His eyes always would light up when he talked about the World Series.  And I always thought that to him, the “Series” was fall’s one saving feature.  He wasn’t much of an autumn person -always got a little down- but when the team he was pulling for won the series, it made his winter a little shorter.  And in the spring, it was time for baseball again! I wish he could’ve experienced this year’s series, because he really loved the Braves. They were always losers while he lived.  But maybe he has seat this year-- in the dugout with them!  After all, they are winning!”

My Daddy was a good man, a good father, a good grandfather, a good friend, still remembered by many.  He never had riches or fame.  He worked hard all of his life in a textile mill; but the work he really loved was farming.  He loved the land and being able to tend it.  He also loved his church and the community in which he lived.  And he loved me.