Remembering Dad

“I want to help,” she cried.  She beamed at her father; her yellow flowered sundress bouncing an eager tempo.  Her father looked down and hid a smile as he wiped the sweat from his face.  The Texas sun was bright, the air stifling.  The oleander and rhododendron drooped after days of unabated heat.  Even in the short time they had been outside her Daddy’s white T-shirt was soaked with sweat.  He nodded as he handed her the water hose, so big for such a little girl. 

“He’s happy,” she thought.  “I will water Daddy’s flowers,” she thought proudly.

Struggling to hold the heavy water hose, she wrapped both her tiny hands around it.  The dry ground beneath her feet became a puddle, and her sandaled toes wiggled happily.  The puddle grew as more flowers on her sundress were thoroughly soaked.  But no spot was as big as the smile on her Daddy’s face.

(June 6, 2000–revised journal entry)


About T A Smith

Just one of the literacy scholars on this site who wants to explore writing in all its complexities.
This entry was posted in Reflections and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to Remembering Dad

  1. owlren says:

    This is quite beautiful in its detail. A nice memory, even if it is not an organic one.

  2. blissbait says:

    lord…such sweetness here
    memories like i’ve made up
    but yours sounds so real…

    That’s really lovely. I can smell it, feel it. Thank You and Namaste. 🙂

    • Yousei Hime says:

      Thank you so much. This is a favorite and personal story. I wrote it about a 1 1/2 years before my father passed away. I can’t really claim it as an actual memory; however, I was told this story (about me) so many times that it feels like a memory. I have the photo somewhere and will add it to the post when I find it.

If you leave tracks, I'll find you.

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