The White Ghost

Memory Monday~

I started writing this Monday for Father's Day, but didn't get it done.

I would have to spend a large amount of time to describe my dad and I still wouldn't do it justice. He is quiet. He is a cowboy. He is a hardworker. When you are talking to him on the phone, sometimes you aren't sure if he is still there because it takes him so long to answer your questions. He is patient. He loves my mom. He holds his tongue.....too bad I didn't inherit that trait. Did I mention that he is quiet?? When he is sitting, his leg is always bouncing, unless he's asleep. I used to love to lay on his lap at church and have my head vibrate on his knee.

I specifically remember him coming in from the barn one night, the chain he had used to pull a calf with, draped from on side of his long johns to another like a gangster and dancing across the family room floor. He has a good sense of humor.

During my teen years, our house got toilet papered a fair amount. It was the fun thing to do to your friends, or so I thought. It soon became apparent that the T.P.ers weren't trying to get the attention of the adolescents in the house. They were thrill seekers. They had nicknamed my dad the "white ghost" and the "white ghost" never disappointed. The dogs would start barking and dad would peek out the window to see strands of white paper being flung over tree limbs. He would grab his shotgun, sneak out the front door in nothing but his skivvies and blast away. Straight up in the air, of course.

Happy Father's Day Dad. I sure love you.