My Father
When I was:
Four years old: My daddy can do anything.
Five years old: My daddy knows a whole lot.
Six years old: My dad is smarter than your dad.
Eight years old: My dad doesn't know exactly everything.
Ten years old: In the olden days,
when my dad grew up, things were sure different.
Twelve years old: Oh, well, naturally,
Dad doesn't know anything about that.
He is too old to remember his childhood.
Fourteen years old: Don't pay any attention to my dad.
He is so old-fashioned.
Twenty-one years old: Him? My Lord,
he's hopelessly out of date.
Twenty-five years old: Dad knows about it,
but then he should, because he has been around so long.
Thirty years old: Maybe we should ask Dad what he thinks.
After all, he's had a lot of experience.
Thirty-five years old: I'm not doing a single thing until
I talk to Dad.
Forty years old: I wonder how Dad would have handled it.
He was so wise.
Fifty years old: I'd give anything if Dad were here now
so I could talk this over with him.
Too bad I didn't appreciate how smart he was.
I could have learned a lot from him.
Author Unknown
Pa Did It
The train of cars that Santa brought is out of kilter now;
While Pa was showing how they went he broke the spring somehow,
They used to run around the track - at least they did when he
Would let me take them in my hands an' wind 'em with a key.
I could 'a had some fun with 'em, if only they would go,
But gee! I never had a chance, for Pa enjoyed 'em so.
The automobile that I got ran around the floor
Was lots of fun when it was new, but it won't go no more.
Pa wound it up for Uncle Jim to show him how it went,
And when those two got through with it the runnin' gear was bent,
An' now it doesn't go at all. I mustn't grumble though,
'Cause while it was in shape to run my Pa enjoyed it so.
I've got my blocks as good as new, my mitts are perfect yet;
Although the snow is on the ground I haven't got 'em wet.
I've taken care of everything that Santa brought to me,
Except the toys that run about when wound up with a key.
But next year you can bet I won't make any such mistake;
I'm going to ask for toys an' things my Pa cannot break.
Edgar A. Guest
The Story of a Father
and His Daughter
A baby girl is born.
Simultaneously, from amid the ranks of ordinary men,
there emerges a mightily courgeous, gallant man...
who is quaking in his shoes.
As they grow together, the girl comes to
know that her father is no ordinary man.
He can hear the sound of the sun
pushing the clouds out of her world,
and he helps her to hear it, too.
He can taste the worst cookies that she will make
and then eat three or four more from the same batch.
He can touch the stars and pull them closer to her.
He can see the fire of youthful puppy love burning
in her heart.
No, this father is no ordinary man.
He has a body to shield his daughter from strangers,
big dogs, and noisy things; a broad expanse of
chest to nestle against; and an arm to pillow
her head while watching television.
He has two strong arms to hold her up
to touch the sky, to see inside a bird's nest,
or to fly like an airplane.
Fearlessly, this father and daughter
adventure into the realms of surpise.
Together they open doors
and share peeks at monsters;
with him, she is never afraid.
He is there for her first bike ride.
He has flowers picked to tickle her nose,
shaving cream dabbed on her face,
and a good-night kiss in the dark when he
comes home late and thinks she is asleep.
In her teenage years, he teaches her to
respect herself and others.
He is always proud of her for trying new things;
she doesn't always have to win.
He is a wealth of truth in the midst
of peer group untruths,
an impatiently driving instructor,
and a light in the window
at twelve o'clock on a Friday night.
He is the firm cornerstone of the family
who gives her values to believe in,
a heritage she feels worthy of,
and an urgency for living
her life completely.
Now, in her adulthood, he could slow
down a bit, but he won't.
He still utilizes his many resources
to teach is daughter well,
and somehow his mere presence continues
to trigger the potential in her.
So what does a daughter say to this man
of subtle sensitivities and infinite wisdom?
She says this...
"I love you, Dad"..
Author Unknown
Father
Used to wonder just why father
Never had much time for play,
Used to wonder why he'd rather
Work each minute of the day.
Used to wonder why he never
Loafed along the road an' shirked;
Can't recall a time whenever
Father played while others worked.
Father didn't dress in fashion,
Sort of hated clothing new;
Style with him was not a passion;
He had other things in view.
Boys are blind to much that's going
On about 'em day by day,
And I had no way of knowing
What became of father's pay.
All I knew was when I needed
Shoes I got 'em on the spot;
Everything for which I pleaded,
Somehow, father always got.
Wondered season after season,
Why he never took a rest,
And that I might be the reason
Then I never even guessed.
Father set a store on knowledge;
If he'd lived to have his way
He'd have sent me off to college
And the bills be glad to pay.
That, I know, was his ambition;
Now and then he used to say
He'd have done his earthly mission
On my graduation day.
Saw his cheeks were getting paler,
Didn't understand just why;
Saw his body growing frailer;
Then at last I saw him die.
Rest had come! His tasks were ended,
Calm was written on his brow;
Father's life was big and splendid,
And I understand it now.
Edgar A.Guest
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Return to Reflections
Featured Music: 
"Daddy's Hands"
I remember Daddy's hands folded silently in prayer
and reaching out to hold me when I had a nightmare.
You could read quiet a story in the callouses and lines.
Years of work and worry had left their mark behind.
I remember Daddy's hands, how they held my Mama tight
and patted my back for something I'd done right.
There are things I've forgotten that I loved about that man,
but I'll always remember the love in Daddy's hands.
Daddy's hands... were soft and kind when I was crying.
Daddy's hands... were hard as steel when I'd done wrong.
Daddy's hands weren't always gentle, but I've come to understand,
there was always love in Daddy's hands.
I remember Daddy's hands working till they bled,
sacrificed unselfishly just to keep us all fed.
If I could do things over, I'd live my life again,
and never take for granted the love in Daddy's hands.
Lyrics By: Holly Dunn (1986)
Graphic Design by:
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