My Dad

‘Tis the season for Christmas music to be playing, still too early, in nearly every store in America, subliminally jostling people prematurely toward the more profitable holiday, while trying to stuff Thanksgiving away in a corner.  I’ve noticed that folks on Facebook have been combatting this a bit, with “thankful November” posts.  While I enjoy reading them, I haven’t participated.  I try to be thankful every day; although, at times, it is nearly impossible, for me.    Not to mention the fact that, no matter how hard I try, someone or something will inevitably be left out, and I’m rather a perfectionist when it comes to thinks like that, which is one of the reasons why I am exceptionally “wordy.”  Tonight though, as I face another night of insomnia, I have become inspired to tell my thanks, publicly and humbly, to one particular individual.  This way, I know I’m leaving everyone out, except him, but don’t worry, I’ll get to all of you, one day.  But, for now, here’s a tribute to my Dad.

__________________________________

When I was very little, I’d sit on Daddy’s knee,

Sharing breakfast bacon, just for him and me.

I’d wait for him to come home, giving the horn a toot,

And hustled down the stairs to help him “hoose his boot.”

I ran away from home once, straight down the road, in danger;

Dad gave me a rare spanking, explaining about strangers.

As I grew up a little more, we worked on little projects,

A dog house for my Lady dog, and a quarter for my pockets.

Many pets over the years he helped me care for and feed,

Ever building fence and shelter when there was a need.

I was Daddy’s little girl, and he was just and fair,

But even more importantly, he was always there.

He rescued me from bees and wasps and falling from a horse;

When I was very little, he was my hero, of course.

______________________________________

Many years have since passed since I was that little girl,

And many changes have occurred inside our little world.

My Dad has had to adapt, to change; at times he doesn’t “get me,”

But I can say with honesty, he tries quite hard to just see.

The “bacon days” have long been gone; I no longer eat meat,

And I’m sure it’s been decades since I’ve de-booted his feet.

Long past the time that many Dads consider that they’re “done,”

My Dad never gave a moment’s hesitation; not a one.

He’s rescued me in different ways, throughout my many falls,

Whatever I need, no matter the deed, he always answers my call.

I remember very well the day I flipped my car down a hill;

I never saw my Dad so scared; I thought ’twas him it might kill.

I’ve had financial struggles, emotional and physical too;

My Dad gives me more than he ought, just to see me through.

I know my Dad would give up his life if that would ensure mine;

I always thought that type of love could only come from the Divine.

____________________________________________

My Dad is still my hero, although I often do not show it;

But I think it’s high time I write this, and past time that he know it.

I love you Dad, and honestly I don’t know where I’d be,

If you weren’t there all along the entire way for me.

I know I baffle you at times, and make you mad as well,

But your unconditional love has seen me back from Hell.

I hope one day to repay you, although I don’t think I ever can,

But I hope you know, to me, you are the most special kind of man.

-Gina

November 17th, 2012

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About Whimsical Scribe

I'm a writer at heart, but not by trade (yet anyway). I graduated from college in 2002 with a double Bachelor's degree in both English (creative writing concentration) and Psychology. Both are fairly useless majors in the job market today, unless you further them, which is what I have started to do and one day hope to have the finances/wellness to continue. Sadly, I have not been inclined to do much writing at all, of late, which is why I decided to start this blog. I live in a very rural area in the Northeast USA. I am the owner of three fantastic canines, an animal welfare advocate, vegetarian, environmentalist, and progressive thinker. I support the Ian Somerhalder Foundation, the Animal Rescue Site, and hope one day to become a doggy foster parent again, along with becoming a writer at some point in the near future. I have Dissociative Identity Disorder, and also struggle with major depression and anxiety, and have for most of my life. PTSD is something I also live with. I am hoping that talking about/blogging about these things will be a help, both to me, and to others as well. Sometimes, one of my people may blog something as well, so not all views presented in this blog may be "mine" so to speak.
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