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#618746 05/22/08 03:03 PM
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This is dedicated to my Dad....one in a million...I was...

ONE OF THE LUCKY ONES (C)2008 Janice Hopkins


One thing about a small town, you know where you stand. No one holds back. They love you, they hate you. They never make you guess. You mess up on a Saturday night, well, its all over bingo on Monday.

I was one of those kids; not a bad kid by any stretch of the imagination, just full of what my dad affectionately referred to as, "full of piss and vinegar." (guess some things never change). Quite literally, I was one of the few girls in our small town with nerve enough to try anything twice, if not caught the first time. There were few exceptions to this rule. The ones on that short list were plenty important, though...No disrespecting your parents or elders, no hurting anyone ( well, physically, anyhow), no driving your car backward down a main road (thank God, that one wasn't on there)no eating yellow snow, important in the eastern climate, and...absolutely no all the way sex before marriage. Most of those I adhered to, more out of fear than necessity.

Growing up on 50 acres of bottom land wasn't a choice, but a sentence at times. But, I learned about hard work very early on. Finishing what you start was the first chapter in my dad's bible, working 'til you've done it right was the second.

Dad was a staunch disciplinarian, finding ways to prove a point was more than a personality trait, but rather an art form that he honed at every opportunity. I got most of his points quite quickly with one look from his steel blue eyes.

Never hearing the words, I love you from him 'til I was well into my thirties was nothing I missed, because he had always shown it in so many ways. The words were somehow difficult for him to manage, the actions to prove it were not.

One such example was when he was having a very hard time financially, he knew that the prom was coming up. I had asked him way ahead of time if I'd be able to have the new shoes that I'd dreamed of if I was able to make the dress myself. I still remember the look of sadness in those eyes, when he said, "Probably not." So, I planned to save money for both the fabric and the shoes, but was unable to do it all. One week before the prom, he came into the house carrying a shoe box with the very shoes that I had wanted...and in the correct size. He had sold his favorite fishing rod, the one he'd saved for...the one I knew he loved. I found that out, a bit later when I saw him using his old one. When I asked him about it, he confessed. I cried. He said, "Now, now, don't cry, I didn't need two rods anyway." Then he proceeded to ask me all about the dance. He said that he didn't make it to his prom. Well, I told him all about it, while he listened intently to every detail. He especially liked the part about how the captain of the football team was nearly thrown into an early coronary when my dad had met him at the door. That boy had decided then and there to just ask my Mom to pin the corsage on.

Many years before, I had learned on many fishing excursions with Dad, that there are times in life that you just don't say a word. Not only does it scare the bass away, but later on I learned while sitting in a corner chair, that there are sometimes more reasonable uses of the English language.

One such episode involving my speaking out of turn, occurred when I was around thirteen. My parent's good friends were visiting. The four of them were involved in a lively game of Euchre, while tasting the offerings of Mogen David. Between hands, I was usually delegated to prepare one of my famous snack creations. This particular evening, I brought slices of cake on plates and began passing them around. When I came to my Dad's friend, Pete, he said, "Oh, just a small piece for me, I'm watching my weight," to which I promptly replied, "Well, its right out there where you can see it." Well, my young life was nearly cut short that June night, but because I was the only daughter, the only one that could grow up and be just like Mom, Dad let me live...but, with no guarantees.

Dad was a veteran of the big war; the one that was in all the papers. Also, he had been a police officer and an Army M.P. He knew how to stand up for what's right. He did that at the first sight of Ole' Glory or at the first notes of the anthem. He was never ashamed to show how proud he was to be an American and couldn't understand how anyone could feel any differently. He'd served overseas and had seen alot to compare his country to. He held it high...flew its colors everyday.

He was not a rich man, but people saw him as such. He worked hard at anything he set him mind to and was so proud of all that he had. His family was at the top of that list.

At my piano recitals, school plays and musicals, he'd do something that he rarely did; put on his one good suit and sit in the front row. He knew that I thought he looked handsome in it.

If I hesitated on the keys, he'd say that he didn't notice. If I forgot my lines, he'd say that it didn't matter. If I sang off key, he'd say he couldn't hear it.

In school, if my grades were less than perfect, he'd just say that he knew I'd do better next time; thing is, I usually did...for him. I learned the value in trying, in seeing things through, and in doing things over 'til I got it right and in not complaining too loudly if that hard work doesn't show the expected results for a long time. It would someday.

Dad wasn't a church going man, but he is how I learned the most about God. He saw the Maker in everything that he saw, touched, planted or felt inside. He didn't pretend a faith that was shallow; he just lived it deeply in the way he treated his neighbors and his family. If he had a penny more than someone else, he'd give them a dime. During the war, the Salvation Army came to the rescue of the soldiers in the field with food, blankets and moral support. He'd be the first to donate to their cause whenever possible. He always gave back. Before the term, "Pay it forward" was popularized, he lived it.

I only saw my dad cry once that I can remember. When our collie was 17 years old, he had to make the decision to have him put down. I saw him cry that day. We'd had that beloved dog since I was an infant; nearly all my life. I think he was crying for me.

On the day that Dad died, he'd been married to Mom for exactly fifty five years to the day. Mom was getting dressed for him to take her out to dinner and celebrate. Instead, he sat down in his favorite chair and went gently to a place that I'm sure he knew was waiting. On his stone there are two of his favorite things...fish and deer. He would have liked that. He was buried with full military honors. My son sang, Garth Brook's, "The Dance", my dad's favorite song to hear Matt sing.
He would have been so proud.

One thing that I know for sure. I was one of the lucky ones to have had the kind of a dad that you'd want to write about.
Plain and simple...he cared. What more could anyone ask for? Plus, he thought the sun rose and set in his only daughter.
But, that was merely a reflection of his love.

Last edited by Janice Hopkins; 05/22/08 03:46 PM.
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Really touching, Janice. Very well put together.

"He was buried with full military honors. My son sang, Garth Brook's, "The Dance", my dad's favorite song to hear Matt sing.
He would have been so proud."

He would be equally proud of this piece.

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Thanks Ben,

He would have been proud...not that its such great writing or anything....but just because he was so like that.

I'm glad you liked it...Thank you....Jan

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Janice, you made us feel like we knew him a little...great character development, how you revealed the layers of what he meant to you with the stories within a story...he's obviously a big part of why you're who you are, thanks for sharing this...oh by the way, i have started guessing who wrote what on the side board before i go to the post, i knew this would be you...ha... i'm easily amused...ha...moker

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Moker,

Thanks for your nice words on this one. I'm happy that you read it. Hopefully, we're all lucky enough to have someone, if not a parent, that has so inspired us to try to be the best that we can be. He was mine.

Thanks Moker....Jan

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HiYa Mich-Sis!

You were Lucky to have Such a Great Dad...& He was Lucky to have Such a Great Daughter, too!

What a Shock..& a Simultaneous "Great Milestone"...to make it to his 50th Ann'y Date..on his Last Day On Earth. (I got 12 more years to go..& hope maybe a Few More..After-That-Event...heh!)

But..ya gotta live 'em One Day at A Time! Sounds like he was A Master at that..& he was lucky to have Such a Good Helper!

Well-Penned, Really Fine Recollections, M'LadyChum, & a whole Lotta Love shines through Every Line of it!

Good Luck with this..& a Big Congratulatory Hug,
Stan

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Hello Stan,

I'm glad and honored that you read this. My Dad was a big joker...he would have appreciated you, big time.

Yeah...he was a guy who had severe health problems for many years, but never let it get him down...he lived his life to the fullest each and every day right up to the end. Even went deer hunting 4 month before he died and got a deer, dragged it out himself. He said that he wouldn't ask something of someone else that he could do himself. That's how he was....

Yeah....I was lucky....even more so, cause I KNOW IT.

Thanks Stan...for the kind words....always very appreciated to be sure.

Hugs, Your Sis from Mich.

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Hi Janice,
Great story well written, I love true story's, and our lives (yours and mine) were totally different that is what makes it interesting for me.

We all write from our own unique perspective, I wish more would write this way without any contrivance,

We should write about what we know from personal experience.

I will read this again from time to time to fully divulge it.


Have been working at E.M.I. Hayes U.K. in many departments starting as Tea Boy and worked through to A and R, New Artist Management,
Co Writing , with Boy Bands, and some solo acts
I have always played in bands,

SPLIT LEVEL
psuedonymn of course to many thieves and robbers on the web these days
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Dear Split level,

I thank you for reading my girlhood ramblings and for seeing this as my truth, which it surely is, especially the gratitude part.

I write from stream of consciousness on a piece of this nature. I tend to just let it flow from memory, while writing exactly as I would speak it, while at the same time conveying how it was felt then and still....now.

Thank you so very much for appreciating this one and for your nice comments on it. I hope that you read it again and again.

Thank you,

Jan

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BUMP! So I can easily find it again, and read it again. This was beautiful, Jan. Sorry it took me over a year to find it. smile

A lot of my friends, and even first cousins, came from broken homes, or homes where one parent or the other passed on early. I, too, feel like one of the lucky ones because my parents remained married for the duration, 56 years, until they died two months apart. How's that for togetherness?

With only a few event changes, your dad's story could easily have been mine. I think that's why I enjoyed reading this one so much.

Beautiful recollections!

Hugs,
Greg


If you don't eat your meat, you can't have any pudding.
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Thanks so much, Greg for reading about my great Dad.

I know that alot of people fall into the lucky ones group and I'm sure they can relate. I never take the fact for granted...that I had the upbringing that I had. It was simple and loving. Didn't grow up with any chaos. Wish I could go back to all of that sometime. Maybe this piece will help some people do that...even those who may never have had it.

Thanks again for the kind words,

Jan

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Hi Jan, I found this so I could read it, & I'm darn glad I did.
I was in the neighborhood posting a little short story, remembered that you'd told me about this,jumped over & checked it out.
Very nice, I do feel like I know you better. TTYL Gus


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