Dad
God gave to me a special Dad (or
maybe me to him);
both just a little bit the same so we understood within.
He knew when I was happy and he
knew when I was sad;
we didn't have to speak a word but somehow he made me glad.
A feeling warm inside of me to
see those eyes of blue,
knowing deep behind them there was understanding true.
I think of him on this special
day and, somewhere, I think he knows
he left a part of him with me and my love for him grows and grows.
Joan Adams Burchell
(copyright)
Memories of Dad
All dads have little habits they
do that make them special and dear.
'I' remember Dad's love for ties - give one and he'd grin ear
to ear.
His taste was very conservative
but we knew what to do;
A silk-knit one I chose one year, in his favourite colour of blue.
He couldn't wait to show it off;
"My favourite one, alright!
Not too loud, colour's good, and the material is fine - just right."
But there was something to beat
that tie - Can you believe a fishing lure?
Trout, bass, pickerel or pike, He was a fisherman, for sure.
The thing that I remember best
are the fishing tales he told,
About "the one that got away" - It took his line - how
bold!
His arms weren't long enough to
show the size of that doggone bass;
Our roars of laughter made it worse and the fish grew longer fast!
And then there were the hockey
games; he listened on radio.
Those were the days of the big six teams and "The Leafs"
were the team in TO.
Baseball, another sport Dad liked
- he was true to the Toronto team.
Horses were another love, but trips to the track were lean.
Dad peeled apples on Sunday mornings
for Mom to make her pies;
Just a little thing, perhaps, but it put sparkle in Mom's Irish
eyes.
These are all just a few of the
things that remind me of my dad;
He tended his garden, polished our shoes; he was always happy
- not sad.
He expected us to do our best in
everything we did;
He taught us to live by the Golden Rule and we're happy we did
as he bid.
Thank you Dad for just being you
and sharing your humour and love.
My memories, all written in my heart, tucked under the wings of
a dove.
Joan Adams Burchell
(copyright)
