When I was a child, I did not get to spend much time with my Dad. He was a full time plumber/electrician, and a part-time farmer. That part-time farmer thing meant that he farmed before he went to work, and when he came home from his day job.
As a result of this my Dad was pretty tired in the evening. As children, we really did not appreciate this; we were pretty wrapped up in being kids.
I have a memory of one summer night long ago; it was the 4th of July. The weather was pleasantly cool. I must have been 12 or 13, and we had just returned from watching the fireworks burst over the lake, and shower the hillsides. We got out of the sapphire blue Galaxy 500; and I went to take my Dad's hand. He grasped it and I felt a thrill run through me; I knew then that my Father loved me.
Here is a poem that I wrote yesterday, for my Dad.
My father is a rock of dependability
He is a man of few words, i.e.--
The strong, silent type
My Dad was a good provider
We had everything that we needed
Not to excess, but enough
My father has humility
He does not try to be boastful
Or appear better than others
My Dad is a man of simple needs
He takes pride in what he does
But, he is quietly proud
Fathers do not always get
The thanks they deserve
The thanks for the food on the table
And for the electricity and hot water
The thank yous for the shelter above us
For the clothes on our backs
And above all, for their love
Thank you Dad!
Happy Father's Day!