Oh Kayyyyy
I read the first few paragraphs of this and immediately started to wonder how someone could write this stuff and believe it to be true.
I'm speechless.
There has been a story on my mind the last week or so that I remember my dad telling me. Dad told me this story so long ago that I am sure parts are not exactly correct but all-in-all this is how it goes.
My dad was about six or seven when his younger brother Eddie was born. I think the year was 1938, maybe 1937 but--back to what I know. It seems that my grandmother had a very hard time with the birth and she was transferred from the home on the second floor of the little wooden apartment complex that still stands on Wheeler Avenue in Anderson, Indiana just about four blocks from St Mary’s Church.
By this time several area births took place in the Hospital but it was still a time when many births were still performed at home. Wilma, my grandmother was delivering Eddie in her seventh month and the birth was nearly intolerable for both. A premature baby in the thirties was a baby meant for prayer. The mother went into seizures that started at home and my dad, at six was the first to see this.
Now it is a few days later, my dad was in about 1st or 2nd grade and walked from home on sixth avenue to Saint Mary’s School and on the way he passed the hospital and could see the window where his mother lay.
At the time of the childbirth the doctor made no promises for the child or the mother and as my dad related to me he put his face near his mother and she said…”Jackie-boy, a little bird said you’re worrying”. I will never ever forget what my dad said, “Eddie needs you mom”. Six or seven years old and already dad does not want to say “I need you mom!.”
I don’t know how this part of the story came about but Wilma lay in the hospital seriously ill for weeks. A night nurse had a code for my dad that if he saw the vase in the window his mom was still doing okay…but if not, well. For about six weeks dad walked to school every day past his mom window and everyday a vase till finally mom came home with little Eddie.
In this whole story there is now, years later one survivor…Eddie is retired military. Dad is gone…parents all gone and life goes on and on.
There is a strange twist to many fathers, we start out tough but by the time our children are grown it is often our wives handing us the Kleenex. I typed this story and I thought of my dad as the “little one” and I was an adult standing ready. How I wished I could now comfort him…gone after all these years. Then I realize I’ve not moved away from my dad…I am my dad.
I wonder if any other father’s feel the same way?
It is true. I would wager than half the men in church would not be there unless their family was there.
You think women are not overrepresented in churches today?
That is absolutely true.