Posted on 12/13/2016 1:15:48 AM PST by Steve Newton
To some one enduring the "wolf" hour
The little girl was often on the receiving end of jokes from her classmates, for among other things, she was very poor. In addition no one had seen her father in a long time and many blamed him for the dismal conditions the little girl lived in.
Their “home” was a small dingy travel trailer parked on a rented lot near the outskirts of town, after having lost their real home when her father disappeared.
Her mother worked as a waitress during the day and by the time she got home she was often too tired to move, her feet swollen. But she always made sure the little girl had food on the table and a place to study. Every Sunday she made sure her daughter was dressed in what passed for her “Sunday best” so she could catch the van to Church.
Even at Church she was not so much taunted as shunned. She sat by herself with a worn Bible in her lap that her father had given her so long ago and stared at the floor. But she loved to sing, her favorite song was “Jesus Loves Me.”
A special day for her arrived because she had been making plans for “father’s day” at school for a long time. Her mother had tried to get her to skip a day but the little girl would have none of it. “I’m still proud of my daddy even though he left me,” she said.
She sat and listened to the other children and as they introduced their fathers a small tear formed in her eye. But she was determined not to show how much she hurt. And she had spent a long time hiding how she really felt about anything.
When her time came she slowly shuffled up to the little lectern and gently placed a well worn letter atop it.
From the back of the room she heard someone ask where her daddy was, while another said she probably didn’t have one. She heard a grown up mutter, “dead beat dad.”
Her eyes well up with tears and she could barely see the letter in front of her. She simply froze.
She heard the door open and when she looked up she saw a stranger, but he was dressed like her daddy. And this man was huge with so many sparkles on his chest it almost blinded her.
He slowly walked over and stood next to her and then in a voice that sounded like cement in a mixer he started to speak:
“I stand with this lovely little girl today as her surrogate father. Her bravery, in the presence of such adversity would have made her dad very proud. And I’m afraid he would also have been very angry with you all.”
“Let me tell you a story about this girl’s father: I don’t know what you have been told or what you have “surmised” in your little minds, but her daddy was a Soldier and a very good one. He was also a good father.”
“He was one of my squad leaders and he, uh, went to Heaven protecting his men. For this he received the Silver Star and rests now at a place called Arlington.”
“And he loved his little girl more than life itself.”
The old sergeant picked up the letter from the lectern.
“Sweetheart: You know that daddy misses you with all his might. I pray for you too every night! And like you and I spoke of before I left, we are never really alone for we carry each other in our hearts. And God watches over us all as He wills. Be happy precious cause I will be home soon.” He lay the letter back down.
“He wrote this the night before he went to be with Jesus.”
Pappy looked down at the little girl and anger swelled up inside of him.
“This little girl’s father gave his last full measure to this country so that you could go to school, work and have happy families. But I come here and see where his family lives now and I have heard the stories. Instead of lending a hand you make snide remarks and feel superior. You make me ashamed.”
Pappy reached down and picked up the little girl in his massive arms and she clung to him, her hands going around his neck.
“This precious little girl, this—beautiful little spirit, is dressed in rags because of a foul up with the government over insurance paper work—and because of your neglect. You can rest assured she will no longer be poor.”
As he carried the little girl to the door he stopped and looked back at them all:
“She won’t be poor, if she ever was, but I’m very much afraid that you always will be.”
The door slammed shut behind him.
S J Newton The Old Sergeant is fictional This story was inspired by an internet poem called “Daddy’s Poem.” Author Leecy Madison. https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/daddys-poem-leecy-madison.
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And the morale of the story is: Be there for our hero’s AND their families
www.silverstarfamilies.org
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