Guess what? I've got a guest poster today! Yup, there's a first time for everything. Wondering who
I could sucker into would graciously accept the honor of writing on my blog? Wonder no more! It's my dad, Bob. So without further ado...
Hi! Wendy asked me to write as a guest on her blog. I’m not sure whether to be flattered or used. I am leaning toward the latter because when I asked what she wanted me to address she said, “I don’t know.” Sounds like writers block to me.
Wendy was a blessing to us when she was born and somewhat of a surprise. We knew there was a chance she would be a redhead, but were taken aback when it arrived with her. I was not present at the time because I didn’t think I could withstand the pain, but her mother says that everyone in the delivery room started laughing as soon as her head popped out. Her hair attracted a lot of attention not only because of its color, but because Sandra would always tape a bow on her head whenever we took her out. People would inevitably ask how we got the bow to stay on and we would tell them that we used a thumb tack and stuck on the soft spot on the top of her head. Some people were horrified and you must remember that this was pre-Walmart days.
Traditions are born in every family some endearing; others live to haunt you for life. Wendy complains the she never got to eat the curl off the top of her softy ice cream. It became standard that Sandra or I would eat it before handing it to her. Yea, her sister had to suffer the same inhumane treatment. They are both kinder to their children.
(Wendy here. My daughter has no idea what a swirl tastes like. I need to make up for all the swirls I missed out on. Hmph.)
An example of the endearing type of tradition was started when Sandra and I celebrated or first Christmas together in 1963. We were so broke that we could not afford an angel for the top of our tree. One of the presents we received had a little toy elf sitting on top of the box. It was so cute I took it and slipped it on top of the tree. This Christmas, like all Christmas’ before that, little elfy will be perched high atop our tree for the 46th year. This act will be mirrored in our daughters’ homes. It just might be passed down to the next generation.
We were never perfect parents, but both of our daughters grew up to love the Lord and are bringing up their kids to do the same. What greater tradition is there to pass on to the generations to come?