My Daddy  

My dad was what I say was the best dad in the world, he was honest, hard working, loyal to his family and he had a great sense of humour, he was kind and generous, every Sunday he would go rabbiting and come home with a car load of rabbits, there wasn't much money around for any one in those days but my dad would come home skin all those rabbits and give them away to to the beighbours and just keep a couple for his own family...he was my king...

There are so many ways that I remember my dad. I don't always think about him, but when I do pause to remember, I remember ...

The rafts he built for us so we could "go rafting" on the sloughs in the spring.

The willow whistles he made for us that we could never play the way he was able to play a tune.

The school project he helped me with where he ended up gashing his hand with the wood chisle because I was being "helpful" and sharpened it. I didn't tell him that I had and it cut him quite badly. I still remember that he never got mad at me.

The time he stood up to the whole community by not allowing us to ride on an overcrowded school bus. He drove us to and from school until another school bus was added.

The trips to the field in the winter on the back of a stoneboat loaded with manure and watching him spreading the manure over the field.

The wiener (hot dog) roasts on a Saturday evening in the summer.

The really tall swing he built for us out of huge telephone poles, ropes, and a board. Man, we could go high on that swing!

The way he was with his animals.

How he swore whenever he smacked his head when he as under the combine or cultivator making adjustments or repairs.

The snow toffee he made in the winter sometimes.

Seeing him out in the field, on the tractor or the swather or the combine.

Seeing hime come off the tractor so fast the time the load of bales slide off the corner of the hay rack ... with me on top of the bales. Man, he was scared!

Seeing him in his curling sweaters.

Hearing the stories of how he always won the turkey shoots.

Watching him in the old garage skinning weasels and mounting the pelts on the stretcher boards so they would dry properly and be saleable.

And I remember how the family was never the same after he died. The extended family get-togethers just never happened as often and never seemed to be as ... harmonious.

I remember my dad ... with love. And reget that I never, ever told him that.

Dang, girl! You sure do get my memories going. Thanks for this one.

my daddy's influence on me is important and i love and respect him very much.