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| | | Main : Love : Fathers-Children When We Give Thanks (by: Sidney B. Simon)
We always celebrated Dad's November birthday on Thanksgiving Day, even after he entered a nursing home. As years went on, these events took on a double meaning for me - a traditional birthday party for Dad, and a personal thanking for all he had been to me in my life.
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AAA Dad (by: Author Unknown)
For 52 years my father got up every morning at 5:30 a.m., except Sunday, and went to work. For 52 years he returned home at 5:30 p.m., like clockwork, for dinner at 6:00 p.m. I never remember my father taking a "night out with the boys," nor do I ever recall my father drinking.
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Almie Rose (by: Michelle Lawrence)
It was at least two months before Christmas when nine-year-old Almie Rose told her father and me that she wanted a new bicycle. As Christmas drew nearer, her desire for a bicycle seemed to fade, or so we thought.
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And, And, And (by: Robin L. Silverman)
Peeking out from the corner of my desk blotter is a note, slowly yellowing and bent from time. It is a card from my mother, containing only four sentences, but with enough impact to change my life forever.
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Annual Letters, The (by: Raymond L. Aaron)
Shortly after my daughter Juli-Ann was born, I started a loving tradition that I know others (with whom I have subsequently shared this special plan) have also started.
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Army Son, The (by: Author Unknown)
The Creightons were very proud of their son, Frank. When he went to college, naturally they missed him; but he wrote and they looked forward to his letters and saw him on weekends. Then Frank was drafted into the army.
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Assumed Identities (by: Timothy David)
I came home from school yesterday afternoon feeling sad and sorry for myself. My boyfriend of nearly two years had dumped me for an airheaded cheerleader. That wasn't supposed to happen.
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Beaming (by: Poppy)
He walks into the room and everybody looks his way,
He is a handsome older man, with just a touch of gray.
He carries himself perfect, with an air of elegance,
Not proud or arrogant like some, that makes the difference.
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Bottom Line, The (by: Author Unknown)
There was a man who loved fine art. He loved it so much he lived for it. It had become his whole life, and had literally engulfed him. He would work really hard to save up some money, just so he could buy another piece of fine art. He would buy Rembrandt's and Picasso's and many others works of fine art.
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Coolest Dad in the Universe, The (by: Angie Ward-Kucer)
He was 50 years old when I was born, and a "Mr. Mom" long before anyone had a name for it. I didn't know why he was home instead of Mom, but I was young and the only one of my friends who had their dad around. I considered myself very lucky.
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