For those of you who know me it may come as a big shock that I am a Daddy's girl through and through. In the picture here that is (from left to right) my sister Teresa, my Daddy and me when I went back home for Father's Day. My father was very strict on us growing up. My mother and he divorced when I was 6 and I had two extremes when it came to parents. Mom was very relaxed, let me pretty much do what I wanted. Dad on the other hand ruled us with an iron fist. He only had to spank me twice in my life. Both when I was very young. But to hear my father raise his voice at me, to this day can bring me to tears.
My fondest memories of my father:
- Going to the city dump and then Dairy Queen for an ice cream every Saturday
- Dancin in the garage to the oldies when he would work on his cars
- Camping (duh)
- Flying in his plane
- Going to the lumber mill he worked at everyday with mom for lunch and riding the forklift
- Flannel shirts and Levi jeans (enough said)
- Coffee and toast in the morning before he went to work
- Bedtime games (Tickatoos, Round Moon, Johnny Fireman)
I can still remember climbing out of bed at 3am in the morning to walk into the kitchen and see my big, strong Daddy standing there in his flannel shirt with a white t-shirt underneath and his Levi jeans. My little bare feet were always cold as I crawled into his lap to eat our toast and drink coffee. I would pull his over sized t-shirt that I always wore to bed over my knees and he would wrap his arms around me to warm me. Before he left for work he would carry me back to my room and tuck me back into bed.
I am blessed to have a father as wonderful as mine. He was the ideal man, strong, brave (the great spider slayer), smart, handsome (this became a problem with my friends in high school) and very funny! I measure every man that enters my life against my father. I have yet to meet one who measures up. I love you Daddy. Love your Peachy Fry