“I grew up with a
different dad than you did.”
Those were my oldest brother’s exact words, spoken
to our youngest brother, on Saturday during the Celebration service. He’s
right. You see, my youngest brother is 11+ years younger than I am and 9+ years
younger than my other brother. So, for many reasons our dad was much different
than his.
First, we grew up with a
dad who wasn’t around much…nor did he
care to be. He worked the evening shift (3pm-12am ), 5 days a week. He was asleep when we went to school and gone to
work by the time we came home. Saturdays were spent in front of the television
(where he was not to be bothered), working in the yard (which he also did
alone) or paying bills (don’t even think about going near him). In all honesty,
I don’t have a lot of good memories from my younger childhood days.
One fond memory I have,
is the softball fields. I remember going and playing in the dirt, running
around the fields and having so much fun (until I broke my ankle…but that’s another story for another time) as my
dad played softball for the church league. It was really a family affair too!!
My dad played first base, my mom was catcher, my grandma the short-stop, my
grandpa the pitcher and my mom’s brother was in left field. My younger (but
oldest) brother and I played for hours in the dirt. Often we would ride home in
the back-end of the station wagon only to be hosed off before entering the
house. Aaahhhh…those were the days…
But, honestly, the
softball fields are about the only memories I have with my dad, as a young
child at least. Most of the time he wasn’t around or I was busy with dance
classes. He was quite literally “the man who gave us money.” I don’t have many
memories of sitting on his lap for hours on end or just cuddling on the couch.
That was not my dad…at least not back
then.
Blessings,
Annette
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