Sunday, March 21, 2010
My Memories of My Daddy
My daddy died when I was five years old. I only have a few memories of him. I remember waking up in a baby bed and I was afraid and crying. The black lady who kept me picked me up. I wiggled and cried more. She put me down by the back screen door. I stood and screamed and hollered. I've always been a loud one when I needed to be. I wanted my mama or daddy. As I cried, I saw my daddy walking across the back yard. He worked at my granddaddy's sawmill very close to our house and had heard me crying. I was so happy when he came and rescued me. To me, that is a happy memory and I cling to it. It is one of two happy memories I have of him. One of the two times I remember him holding me. Maybe that is why I cherish hugs.