Happy Father’s Day

When I was a kid, you made sure there was always a quarter in my giant, too big for me to carry purse.

I think you did it again recently, when I found a twenty folded neatly between credit cards and forgotten receipts.

When I tried to become a baker, I asked you to please stop me from burning the cookies, which I always burned. You did, with the help of a new sheet pan from Williams-Sonoma.

I wanted to be a writer so desperately. I asked for help with that. It took years, and no one pays me to do it yet, but I can say I write better than I did on that first day.

When trouble found me over and over again,and creeps would hassle me with glee, I would say, “You don’t know who I am. My father will see you. He loves me.”

When the envelope arrived containing the worst news of my life at that moment, I folded it into my purse, went to Mass and asked for a miracle.

Everybody talks to you.

Your cell phone must light up at all hours of the night. How do you decide who to answer? Who do you have on speed dial?

I know…you’re old school.

Copyright © 2012 Kimberly Yarbrough Carpenter


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