Sunday is one heck of a day for me. Sunday is Father's Day. When I was little we wore our rose to church and that was about it. For some reason Fathers are not celebrated as much as mothers are. I don't understand that. When I was growing up my Daddy meant the world to me. I looked forward to the time he would come home from work. He would sit in the chair in the corner of the living room and I would climb in his lap. Sometimes he would read the paper to me, other times we just watched the news. I always loved each moment. I remember one day Daddy had to be at church early, I rode with Mama and we dropped him off. I remember watching him run across the front into the church with his bible over his head as it started raining. When we got home the phone was ringing. Mama got all upset and left. Later they came home and my daddy was hurt. He had slipped on the tile floor and broke his arms. (I think Brook gets it from him). I used to miss the bus on purpose so he could take me to school. I remember riding the bus downtown and meeting him for lunch. I remember eating raw peanuts at his job and the cold freezer that the bananas were stored in( he worked at a produce house). I remember his pride when he bought Mama some new appliances and surprised her. I remember seeing him working into the night at the dining room table doing book work on the side to pay our bills.I learned how to use an adding machine from him. I learned my numbers from him. I remember him telling mama not to be so hard on me, that I was just a baby. I remember my brother telling me that Daddy treated me different. All I know is that I always felt safe and loved when I was with my daddy. My daddy has been gone 34 years now and I have missed him every day of that 34 years.