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

TITLE: My mama's daddy
By Pamela Bridgeman
04/12/08


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He was a soft-spoken man, short in stature but tall in character. The round spectacles he wore snug against his freckled face could not hide the intensity of his brown eyes nor distort the love and compassion that shone through them. His gait was always confident whether he was inspecting the tall cotton stalks that span two acres behind the farm house he built or approaching the counter to pay the balance on the running bill he kept at the local merchant. He had a particular assurance in his step when he went to the altar to pray. And he could pray.

He prayed for the sick and the shut in. He prayed for folks to stop hurting each other and for wars to end. This man of few words besought the Lord long and loud on behalf of the poor, the needy, the destitute, and the forsaken. Importantly, he prayed for me.

A man of integrity, he kept his word until the end. I’d sit on the front porch with him, my feet making bumping noises against the swing because my legs were too short to hang beneath the seat. His laughter was kind as he’d promise me that one day my feet would touch the floor. Then he would point to a mountain range in the distance and say, “That’s Lookout Mountain. I’m going to take you there before I die.” And one morning without preparation or heads-up, he did.

It was a Saturday. The sun shone and the smell of honeysuckle and freshly bloomed roses wafted through the air. Giggling, I caught a monarch butterfly and held it in my hand as he ushered me into his ’64 Ford. He was more somber than I ever remember him being; still, he held my hand and joked with me as we moved sideways through Fat Man’s Squeeze and peered over the sharp precipice at Lover’s Leap. We never got a chance to talk about how fun that day was because I slept all the way home. When I woke the next morning he had been taken to the hospital. Maybe we’ll talk about it when I get to heaven.

A daddy kisses your head and tells you that you’re the best daughter in the whole wide world. A father trains you, comforts you, provides for you, fosters character and instills values in you. He was my mama’s daddy; but Paw Paw was a father to me.


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This article has been read 549 times
Member Comments
Member Date
Sara Harricharan 04/17/08
I felt as if I knew your "Paw Paw" I loved this being short-and very good! I feel as if I didn't miss a thing and got a glimpse at one special memory here. I liked the details with lookout Mt.-very realistic! ^_^
Lisa Holloway04/19/08
What nice memories! I could see it as I moved through the story.
Celeste Duckworth04/21/08
I loved the way you slowed down the precious memory of your Paw-Paw. Thank you for taking me there.