The Down Range Forum
Member Section => Down Range Cafe => Topic started by: unique on July 14, 2008, 06:49:22 PM
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Spent the day working in a house with four screaming brats. I don't think there was one minute that one of them wasn't crying about something.
I can't remember a time when I wanted to get out of a house so bad.
Made me really appreciate what a great job my son and daughter-in-law are doing.
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She's a cutie, U! ;D
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I never had kids, never wanted them, have enough trouble raisin myself. GOD bless those who can do a good job.
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The good thing is, you as a grandparent have the chance to "give them back".
My cousins name is Anika, good Scandinavian name. Kids are kids, god bless 'em. "Out of the mouths of babes",...
When their older, take em to the range,... ;D My son loves it,.. Also good manual labor like I had, pulling weeds by hand, washing mom's car, mucking stalls for our horses. My Dad said it; builds character.
Looking back, it did.
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She's a cutie, U! ;D
Thanks Haz,
We take her up to our "camp" usually one weekend a month, she loves snakes and frogs and bugs. Loves the ATV's and "driving" the backhoe, no girlie girl here. She can also be a little girl when she wants. That's the neat thing about little girls.
And when she climbs up in your lap, gives you a kiss on the cheek and says "I love you grandpa", well........ life's not so bad
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The good thing is, you as a grandparent have the chance to "give them back".
My cousins name is Anika, good Scandinavian name. Kids are kids, god bless 'em. "Out of the mouths of babes",...
When their older, take em to the range,... ;D My son loves it,.. Also good manual labor like I had, pulling weeds by hand, washing mom's car, mucking stalls for our horses. My Dad said it; builds character.
Looking back, it did.
Right you are!
Teaching her now how to work the lever on the log splitter for me (she's three).
Drags the tiny limbs when we take down a tree.
Works with "Nana" in the garden.
I want to be sure when she's grown that she knows where tomatoes come from
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You are doin' a good job grandpa... ;)
She's precious..
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Didn't know where to post this.. but I DID want to post it..
Sometimes we are so busy adding up our troubles that we forget to count our blessings.
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The pickle jar, as far back as I can remember, sat on the floor beside the dresser in my parents' bedroom. When he got ready for bed, Dad would empty his pockets and toss his coins into the jar.
As a small boy, I was fascinated at the sounds the coins made as they were dropped into the jar. They landed with a merry jingle when the jar was almost empty. Then the tones gradually muted to a dull thud as the jar was filled.
I used to squat on the floor in front of the jar and admire the copper and silver circles that glinted like a pirate's treasure when the sun poured through the bedroom window. When the jar was filled, Dad would sit at the kitchen table and roll the coins before taking them to the bank.
Taking the coins to the bank was a big production. Stacked neatly in a small cardboard box, the coins were placed between Dad and me on the seat of his old truck.
Each and every time, as we drove to the bank, Dad would look at me hopefully. 'Those coins are going to keep you out of the textile mill, son. You're going to do better than me. This old mill town's not going to hold you back.'
Also, each and every time, as he slid the box of rolled coins across the counter at the bank toward the cashier, he would grin proudly, 'These are for my son's college fund. He'll never work at the mill all his life like me.'
We would always celebrate each deposit by stopping for an ice cream cone. I got chocolate. Dad got vanilla. When the clerk at the ice cream parlor handed Dad his change, he would show me the few coins nestled in his palm. 'When we get home, we'll start filling the jar again.' He always let me drop the first coins into the empty jar. As they rattled around with a brief, happy jingle, we grinned at each other. 'You'll get to college on pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters,' he said. 'But you will get there. I'll see to that.'
The years passed, and I finished college and took a job in another town. Once, while visiting my parents, I used the phone in their bedroom, and noticed that the pickle jar was gone. It had served its purpose and had been removed.
A lump rose in my throat as I stared at the spot beside the dresser where the jar had stood. My dad was a man of few words, and never lectured me on the values of determination, perseverance, and faith. The pickle jar had taught me all these virtues far more eloquently than the most flowery of words could have done. When I married, I told my wife, Susan, about the significant part the lowly pickle jar had played in my life as a boy. In my mind, it defined, more than anything else, how much my dad had loved me.
No matter how rough things got at home, Dad continued to doggedly drop his coins into the jar. Even the summer when Dad got laid off from the mill, and Mama had to serve dried beans several times a week, not a single dime was taken from the jar.
To the contrary, as Dad looked across the table at me, pouring catsup over my beans to make them more palatable, he became more determined than ever to make a way out for me. 'When you finish college, Son,' he told me, his eyes glistening, 'You'll never have to eat beans again - unless you want to.'
The first Christmas after our daughter Jessica was born, we spent the holiday with my parents. After dinner, Mom and Dad sat next to each other on the sofa, taking turns cuddling their first grandchild. Jessica began to whimper softly, and Susan took her from Dad's arms. 'She probably needs to be changed,' she said, carrying the baby into my parents' bedroom to diaper her. When Susan came back into the living room, there was a strange mist in her eyes.
She handed Jessica back to Dad before taking my hand and leading me into the room. 'Look,' she said softly, her eyes directing me to a spot on the floor beside the dresser. To my amazement, there, as if it had never been removed, stood the old pickle jar, the bottom already covered with coins. I walked over to the pickle jar, dug down into my pocket, and pulled out a fistful of coins. With a gamut of emotions choking me, I dropped the coins into the jar. I looked up and saw that Dad, carrying Jessica, had slipped quietly into the room. Our eyes locked, and I knew he was feeling the same emotions I felt. Neither one of us could speak.
Never underestimate the power of your actions. God puts us all in each other's lives to impact one another in some way. With one small gesture you can change a person's life, for better or for worse.
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This is the second time today I get to thank you for a post M'ette, really nice.
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Very nice M'ette..and she is very precious.
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I don't know how you keep finding these jewels. However your doing it? Just keep them coming ;)
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Thank you for that, M'ette. Very moving.
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Her hair was up in a pony tail, her favorite dress tied with a bow.
Today was Daddy's Day at school, and she couldn't wait to go.
But her Mommy tried to tell her, that she probably should stay home
Why the kids might not understand, if she went to school alone.
But she was not afraid; she knew just what to say.
What to tell her classmates of why he wasn't there today.
But still her mother worried, for her to face this day alone.
And that was why once again, she tried to keep her daughter home.
But the little girl went to school eager to tell them all.
About a dad she never sees ... a dad who never calls.
There were daddies along the wall in back, for everyone to meet.
Children squirming impatiently, anxious in their seats.
One by one the teacher called each student from the class.
To introduce their daddy, as seconds slowly passed.
At last the teacher called her name, every child turned to stare.
Each of them was searching, for a man who wasn't there.
Where's her daddy at? She heard a boy call out.
She probably doesn't have one, another student dared to shout.
And from somewhere near the back, she heard a daddy say,
Looks like another deadbeat dad, too busy to waste his day.
The words did not offend her, as she smiled up at her Mom.
And looked back at her teacher, who told her to go on.
And with hands behind her back, slowly she began to speak.
And out from the mouth of a child, came words incredibly unique.
"My Daddy couldn't be here, because he lives so far away.
But I know he wishes he could be, since this is such a special day.
And though you cannot meet him, I wanted you to know.
All about my daddy, and how much he loves me so.
He loved to tell me stories, he taught me to ride my bike.
He surprised me with pink roses, and taught me to fly a kite.
We used to share fudge sundaes, and ice cream in a cone.
And though you cannot see him. I'm not standing here alone.
Cause my daddy's always with me, even though we are apart
I know because he told me, he'll forever be in my heart."
With that, her little hand reached up, and lay across her chest.
Feeling her own heartbeat, beneath her favorite dress.
And from somewhere there in the crowd of dads, her mother stood in tears.
Proudly watching her daughter, who was wise beyond her years.
For she stood up for the love of a man not in her life.
Doing what was best for her, doing what was right.
And when she dropped her hand back down, staring straight into the crowd.
She finished with a voice so soft, but its message clear and loud.
"I love my daddy very much, he's my shining star.
And if he could, he'd be here, but heaven's just too far.
You see he was a soldier and died just this past year
When a roadside bomb hit his convoy and taught Americans to fear.
But sometimes when I close my eyes, it's like he never went away ...........
And when I closed my eyes, I'll see him there today. "
And to her mother's amazement, she witnessed with surprise.
A room full of daddies and children, all starting to close their eyes.
Who knows what they saw before them, who knows what they felt inside.
Perhaps for merely a second, they saw him at her side.
"I know you're with me Daddy,"' to the silence she called out.
And what happened next made believers, of those once filled with doubt.
Not one in that room could explain it, for each of their eyes had been closed.
But there on the desk beside her, was a fragrant long-stemmed pink rose.
And a child was blessed, if only for a moment, by the love of her shining star.
And given the gift of believing, that heaven is never too far.
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There must be many children in the same boat as this little girl. Thanks
to our servicemen and their families for the sacrifice they are making to
keep our country free. May God & the Angels Hold each one of them.
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Thanks isn't enough.....
Richard