Daddy's Hands

I have been blessed to have the most wonderful father in the world. A man who loves me unconditionally and was always there and still is for me when I need(ed) him, no matter what I may have done.

He was born into a large family with 10 other siblings and learned from a very early age what hard work and loving a family meant. He is only one of two boys in a house full of all women besides his father. Together they farmed cotton, soybeans and rice. By the time my father was four years old he was working in the cotton fields as hard as any adult. He had to do this because grandfather didn't think the girls should work in the fields. So I have been told. My father doesn't talk or like to talk about his life as a child. What I have learned over the years I learned from my own mother who was raised just a few miles away. My dad was never treated as a child, never got to be a child and from very early in his life had to be the man of the house. Bearing all the responsibilities that go along with it. He had a hard childhood.

When my father asked my mother to marry him they took over the family farm. Dad was only 21 years old. At this time he farmed over 1,000 acres alone with only my mother's help. He also continued to raise his siblings. Purchasing them all store bought clothes for school, most of the time the majority of the groceries as well. My father has never NOT been a father in one way or another. He never complained or complains about it. To him, that's just the way it was and was his responsibility.

When I was born along with my own siblings we never worked the farm. At least not myself and my sister. We were both highly allergic to the crops and the dust but even if this were not the case, my dad wouldn't have us doing the work of grown men. He drew the line when we were born. I remember being very little and since I was allergic to dust in such a bad way, that my father would come straight into the house, change his clothes on the front porch and head straight into the shower. All of this before even being able to give me a kiss hello. With this many acres to farm there were many summer months that I only seen my father late at night after being in the bed. He would leave for the fields long before I woke in the mornings and wouldn't return till way after I was in bed at night. He never ever forgot to come in and kiss me goodnight. I could see the glow of his cig coming across my room after dark and knew he was checking on me.

My daddy farmed all those acres till he retired at the age of 65 years. He no longer has the farm we grew up on as he had rented the ground all his life. Never actually owning it himself. To me it will always be daddy's farm ground no matter how old I get.

When I see my father I see strong loving arms wrapping me tightly in a hug and hearing him tell me he loves me. I see hardened callused hands from working the farm and taking care of machinery and those same hands holding my tiny ones and going for a walk through the toy store. I see a face with a farmer's tan, wrinkled lines across his brow, and a smile only a father can give his child.

I see a strong man who always put others before himself as a loving father always does. I see my DAD.