When I was little my father worked the night shift at Frigidaire.  During the day he layed brick and plowed other people’s gardens.  I never knew when he found the time to sit down.  He had a lot of energy and was an excellent story teller.  He was also very funny and liked to “fool around”.  Except at church, and there he was always very serious

I could never go to sleep until 11:15 at night when he got home from work.  It just felt so safe to know that he was home and in the house.

There came a time when I was not allowed to sit on his lap.  The church felt it was not right for little girls to sit on their father’s lap.  I didn’t understand that until I was grown.  People at church talked about this one father who had six little girls, and they all would take turns sitting on his lap.

My daddy was an emotional man and I saw him cry for the first time when his best friend died.  I will never forget the emotion that made him shiver and cry so.  I only saw him cry a couple of other times in my life.

Daddy and Mother got along quite well but I did see them argue once over my sister running around with an older man.  My mother threatened to sit on him if he didn’t straighten up.  That was only the second time I remember him reprimand any of us kids.  I believe my sister got a good whipping.

My brother had this annoying habit of running through the house and jumping up to touch the ceiling.  He said he was practicing his layup basketball shot.  I started running through the house and touching the lower entry to the kitchen.  Once I was doing this and Daddy was sitting on the couch by the entryway.  I jumped and touched the ceiling, but my hand slipped and I knocked down a little plastic thingie that hung on the wall.  It fell and hit Daddy.

He jumped up and said he was sick and tired of us doing this and he would put an end to it.  He took off his belt and gave me the whipping of my life.  It didn’t hurt pain wise so much as it hurt my feelings that my Daddy had whipped me.  I believe my brother and I never jumped in the house again.

Daddy and all his church friends played guitars and other instruments.  They would trade off instruments and try to learn to play them.  We got to try out the mandolin, a Dobro guitar, a banjo and a ukulele.  It was so fun.  I loved the mandolin and learned quite a few songs on it.

I never saw my father as happy as when he was playing his guitar and singing with all his friends.  He and mother would sit in the evenings and play and sing.  We kids would join in and it was very entertaining.

Sundays were especially fun.  A lot of church folk would get together at one of their homes.  The women would fix lunch and the guys would tune up the instruments and get ready for a sing-a-long.  We kids would play outside and have the best time.  Then later it was off to church again for the evening’s service.

Daddy just loved ice cream.  After church on Sunday night he would hem and haw and finally say, “Who wants ice cream?”  We all agreed and off we went to get yummy ice cream.  I know he enjoyed getting the treat for us, but I know he just wanted the ice cream himself.  His favorite was Butter Pecan and now-a-days when I get an ice cream I always get Butter Pecan and say it is for my Daddy.

Marshall VanHoose was a wonderful father but he did things for me instead of teaching me how to do it.  I often wished he had taught me how to lay brick.  He was meticulous in his brick laying.  He didn’t teach me about gardening and used to laugh at my one row of beans, four tomato plants and some herbs.  I wish he could see my gardens these days.

I wrote this poem before my parents died and I would like to share it

FOR MOM AND DAD

"Back when we were kids," "When I was young,"

I heard them say more times than one.

Their clothes were square, their ways out of jive,

But the smile I saw in my father's eye

When he spoke of good times

And the look exchanged between two people sharing a memory.

Mother and daughter, father and son

It's a shame we didn't know them

When they were young.

My memory of them is stuck at that stage,

With old fashioned hairstyles at a really old age.

And I don't recognize the strangers I meet,

At Christmas and Easter or Thanksgiving feasts.

They keep that look in their eye hid

Until one says, "When I was a kid,"

And those folks are back with me and I am home.

Mother and daughter, father and son

It's a shame we didn't know them

When they were young.

Now I'm grown and have kids to raise,

I find myself on occasion using that phrase,

"When I was a kid", or "When I was young."

I don't suppose my own kids have that yen

To have known me when I was a kid...

It's not possible for its not that late,

Though they say I'm old fashioned, my hair out of date.

I'm still lively and full of vim,

And most of all I can remember when...

I can't believe it, but it must be true

The roles are changed, the faces new.

Do my kids see me the same way I know?

I saw my Mom and Dad a long time ago?

 And in a few years will they proclaim?

To have kids who see the same?

We live our lives

Failing to realize.

Mother and daughter, father and son

It's a shame we didn't know them

When they were young.