Here at Books We Love, we love books. We love writing them, we love talking about them, and most of all we love sharing them with our readers. Welcome book lovers, here you will find original content written by the member authors of the Books We Love publishing community. Visit us at www.bookswelove.net and enter our latest contest
Sunday, June 21, 2015
I'm remembering Daddy On Father's Day By Sandy Semerad
one answer, according to a recent survey, is spending time with family and loved
ones. Number two is clothing. Beer is number three.
survey may not be scientific, but I agree with the number one answer. I wish I
could have spent more time with my Dad.
As a child, I was afraid of monsters and would often
sneak into my parents’ bed at night. After I fell asleep, Daddy would carry me
back to my bed. One time he didn’t.
That was the night he died. I was seven.
The next morning, I found Mama
crying in the living room. Our house was full of people. Many of them were crying
“Where’s Daddy,” I asked Mother.
“He’s gone away,” she said.
Daddy looked handsome in the
shiny casket, but asleep. I didn’t understand he wouldn’t wake up. He died of a
heart attack, I was told.
Before Daddy died, he’d complained
of a backache, and I remember he came home early one afternoon to rest his back.
Mama told me not to bother him.
But I couldn’t resist. I sat on his bed and chattered away,
as he puffed on a cigarette. I can still see his pack of Camels on the bed
Daddy rarely came home early. He worked most of the
time. He wanted to give us the so-called finer things in life: a large brick
home, a fishing pond, a swimming pool, tennis courts and our own
Friends from Geneva, Alabama who knew Daddy, called him--Ira Hodges--an entrepreneur. He owned Hodges hardware in the heart of town, but before
he married Mama and moved to Geneva, he was a Texas wildcatter--an oilman.
One of my Geneva friends, John Savage, who as a teen worked
with Daddy, said he thought Daddy seemed too big for a small town.
But Daddy loved Geneva, Mama said. He’d often give credit
on a handshake, and he helped many people in need.
Daddy once repaired the broken windows in a family’s house
for free. “It was freezing and we couldn’t afford to pay,” the father of the
family told me.
Many years after Daddy passed, I spotted a strange
figure, wandering around our house. I froze in fear. Mama wasn’t home at the
I called police before I realized the man wasn’t a stranger
at all. He used to work for Daddy, but had since moved away from
the area. He didn’t know Daddy had died, he said.
“Whenever I needed work, Mr. Ira would always give me
some,” the man said.
I’ve told my daughters and granddaughter this story andother stories about Daddy. I want them to know he was compassionate. He helped people and gave
generously of his time and money. I only wish he could have shared more of his
time with us.
I’ve missed not having him in our lives, and on this Father’s
Day, I wanted to pay tribute to him. #Father’sDay.