Hire
Writers
Editors
Home Tour About Read What's New Help Forums Join
My Account Login
Shop
Save
Support
E
Book
Store
Learn
About
Jesus
  



The HOME for Christian writers! The Home for Christian Writers!
The Official Writing Challenge

BACK TO
CHALLENGE
MAIN

INSTRUCTIONS

how it works
submission rules
guidelines for
choosing a level

ENTRIES

submit your entry
read current entries
read past entries
challenge winners



Our Daily Devotional HERE
Place it on your site or
receive it daily by email.





TRUST JESUS TODAY

TRY THE TEST



Share
how it works   Submit

Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 – Advanced)
Topic: Father (as in paternal parent, not God) (04/10/08)

TITLE: STANDING IN THE WINGS
By Laura Anne Harrison
04/10/08


 LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE
 SEND A PRIVATE COMMENT
 ADD TO MY FAVORITES

STANDING IN THE WINGS

“Daddy Memories” tiptoe down through the streets of yesterday and invade my current thoughts with the same twinkle in his hazel-blue eyes and teasing smile on his face that I knew as a child.

Tall, handsome, intelligent, hard-working, level-headed, good-natured, and fun-loving describe this man who was “Daddy” to me and whose pride in each of his children was very evident.

During my growing-up years, Daddy worked as an award-winning shoe salesman, and department manager. The fact that this daughter of a super shoe salesman “hated” shoes was hilarious to Daddy – especially when it was time for a new pair of shoes. He thought it was funny that, when I could have my pick of any shoes in his store, I preferred “going barefoot.” Consequently, he nicknamed me his “Country Girl”. Although he always provided the shoes I needed, he let me go without shoes whenever I wanted.

With each summer came Daddy’s pride in the large garden that he planted and tended in the open field next to our house. To this day, nothing can compare with the smell of fresh-dug dirt and the feel of that dirt running through the fingers of my hands or oozing through my toes and beneath my feet, as I worked beside him in the garden. (Yes, I was barefoot.)

I have no memory of being sick very often as a child. When I was sick, it was always Daddy who made me feel better. When I was seven years old, after surgery to have my tonsils taken out, I came out of the anesthesia screaming at the top of lungs and no one except Daddy could quiet my screams or stop my tears. During my “awake” times at the hospital, Daddy was by my side, continually talking and reading to me - sometimes, just reading the newspaper out loud. As long as I heard his voice, I was OK.

I was about six years old, when heavy snow blanketed everything in sight. Daddy had bought us a brand new sled for just such a day. My older brother, my sister, and I spent hours frolicking in the snow with our new sled, before we were called inside. On our way into the house, we hung the sled on the hook just inside the doorless garage.

Daddy arrived home from work that night to find that someone had stolen our sled from the hook where it hung. Seeing our devastation and tears, he made his way to the garage. It was no longer snowing, and the skies had cleared enough for moonlight to spill onto the snow-covered ground.

In the moonlight, Daddy followed the footprints and sled tracks out of our yard and down the street until he discovered the sled and the kids who had taken the sled. I don’t know what Daddy said to those older kids, when he discovered them with our sled. I know only that he returned home, pulling our sled behind him, as my hero.

Memories of Daddy flood my mind and heart. . . his teaching me (at age five) to worm a hook, throw a line into the lake, and the delight he showed when I caught my first fish . . . his showing me how to make a basketball net from a bushel peach basket and attach it to a tall old oak tree and then expressing his joy when I shot a basket ball through the “basket-hoop”.

Daddy died three months before my graduation from college. He had called me “his student”. . . “his writer”, and it was as much for him as it was for me that I finished the last three months of my college career. I felt Daddy “standing in the wings”, as I walked across the stage to receive the college’s Poetry Award and my diploma on Graduation Day. I felt not only his presence but also his love, his joy, and his pride in my accomplishments. . .

Thanks for the memories, Daddy. I’ll see you, when I get to Heaven, and I’ll introduce you to my husband, my children, and my grandchildren.


The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
Accept Jesus as Your Lord and Savior Right Now - CLICK HERE
JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.


This article has been read 447 times
Member Comments
Member Date
Sylvia Hensel04/17/08
Beautiful story and well written. I was living your memories along with you.
Sara Harricharan 04/17/08
These are special, precious memories here. I loved the different memories and especially the one with the sled-and walking barefoot in the garden-very nice! ^_^
Debbie Wistrom04/17/08
What a blessed "Country Girl" you are. Wonderful telling of a wonderful man's life. I have to go pray now and ask forgiveness for envy. Thanks for the tender tribute.
Janice Cartwright04/17/08
Yes you are totally blessed to have had such a daddy. Excellent writing.
Debi Derrick04/19/08
Wonderful story - wonderfully told.
Phyllis Inniss 04/23/08
Beautiful story and beautifully told. What a wonderful childhood you had because of your Daddy.