I’d like to tell you ’bout the man of stature five foot three. My eyes saw him at
10 feet tall. He meant the world to me.
Last week this good man passed away. Our family called him dad. Dang sure
we’re gonna miss him. He’s the only one we had.
My father taught me right from wrong. Not from the spewing word. I learned
from his example which was clear and never blurred.
He told me once. I won’t forget. Said, “Always trust your gut. And if it don’t feel
right to you get out before you’re stuck.”
My father had the quirky saying, “Keep it on the road.” That’s how he said
goodbye. Did he mean stay in safety mode?
He never slept much past daylight. He’d get this in his head. He’d say, “I don’t
dare stay too long. ‘Cuz people die in bed.”
He couldn’t understand a man who didn’t want to work. He was proud of his
good work ethic and never thought to shirk.
He took the time to teach and taught me how to stack the hay. And build a fence
and straighten nails to use another day.
My father had one simple rule, comply, or he’d see red. We’d only eat our
breakfast when the animals were fed.
His love for horses was the trait we shared from year to year. He taught me ’bout
the pack horse how to load up all the gear.
We packed into the Yellowstone. Each horse was loaded down, with food and
clothes and prob’y even Grannies old night gown.
The nights were cold and frosty but inside the big wall tent, a blazing fire, a deck
of cards. The best time ever spent.
My father’s word was golden and a man that you could trust. He taught me that a
man’s good name should always be a must.
Some say up high in heaven, dad, you’ve earned a rocking chair. Your answer
was, “Heck no, I’m gonna stretch my legs up there.”
I guess I’m asking once again, “Find Stretch and Shortcut please. And get em
ready for a ride, from west clear through to east.
So dad in time I’ll see you there through God’s forgiving grace. And then I’ll give
you one big hug. A long-deserved embrace.
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