My father was born in Dallas, Texas, on April 22, 1922. His given name was Edwin, but everyone called him Ed or Eddie. I was born some 30 years later; according to Mother, he was instantly enamored with me. “She’s special,” he told her, “I vow to give her a special place in my heart.” […]
by Sara Etgen-Baker Early one Saturday morning when I was about ten, Father gently nudged me from a deep slumber. “Time to go fishin’, Sweetie.” Reluctantly I uncovered my face; blinked; closed my eyes, and blinked again. I sat up, stretched my arms above my head; and yawned, remembering how I’d pleaded with him the night before. […]
by Kali´Rourke Father’s Day approaches, and although I rejoice in the wonderful Dad that my daughters have, I take no such joy in my own. He was an unsolvable mystery to me. He married my mother when she was seventeen and they had me when she was nearly nineteen. My only impressions of him as […]
by Sara Etgen-BakerWhen I was a small child, I rose on my tiptoes and stared out our living room window, watching and waiting until Father arrived home from work. “Mama,” I hollered as soon as I saw his pickup truck ’round the corner, “Daddy’s home!” Then I raced to the front door to greet him. […]
