These Stories Were Collected From the
WWA Ladies of Memories of their Father's

Memories Of Mary's Daddy

       My mother passed away when I was five years old, and my younger sister was two, in 1985. My father was left to raise us by himself, along with his older stepdaughter, who was 12. My dad was an alcoholic who worked at a local grain mill in town. My dad worked full-time and still took care of us children. When I see how hard it is for me to handle my one child and working full-time (both my fiancé and I), I think that my father was a miracle worker.

One day when I was nine, a neighborhood friend had a birthday party. Every year prior, I was invited. Even though it came to the actual day of her birthday party, I thought for sure I'd be invited. We didn't always get along, and since we had gotten older -- we rarely played together. But I just assumed that she'd call me and let me know, and I'd run over with some money from my Dad for her birthday gift (common).

       Hours passed, as I watched her guests arrive. I guess in a way, I was spying on the house But I was wondering why the heck I hadn't gotten a call yet. Another hour passed, and I could see all the girls in the kitchen laughing and having fun. I felt horrible. I think it was then that I realized, I was not invited after all. 

       Since I told my dad that I might get a call, and be invited (earlier) -- I felt embarrassed. I felt like I had no friends, and I really did feel like a fool. I began to cry. I went into my room to cry alone. About half-hour later my dad came upstairs. Now, my father was very verbally abusive, normally.  But for some reason, he didn't seem angry.

       He sat next to me on the bed, and asked me what was wrong. "Amy didn't invite me to her birthday party, " I managed to say between sobs. My dad gave me a hug and said, "Oh what does that kid know? Who wants to go to her stupid old birthday party anyway.  You can stay here with me and {sister}, and we'll order a pizza and have our own fun." 

I don't know why out of all my memories of my Dad, this one seems to stick in my mind. I guess it's
because when I was down, he cheered me up. He sometimes did this, when he could. And I
absolutely adore him for that. And now, I find myself missing him more (he passed in 1999 when I
was 19). But I will always remember the good along with the bad parts about my father, and I will never forget that on FATHER'S DAY....I still have a very special Dad,  even if he's only with us in spirit.

Written By: Mary Day
Festivities Team Member

If you want to see my parent's memorial site, click on the plaque below

My Memories

I hate to say this but I have no memoirs of my father.

I'm 36 and he passed away when I was 2.  Can't remember anything about him.

Two things I would like to share is that I would love to meet my father.  If the Gods
could just let me talk to him once it would be a dream come true.
I would ask him so much about himself. And one important thing is to tell
him that I love him.

Another thing I'd like to share is that, when I was 18, I got married.  My husband and
I took his mother to the cemetery where my mother-in-law's parents are buried
which is right up from where my father is buried.  I asked my husband to come down and see
where he was buried at which he did.  That is the first time I remember crying at my
dad's grave.  It took me 16 years to do that.  Oh I'm sure I did it before then but
it's the first time I remember.  It's something that I wished my dad was there for
(my wedding).....(LOL even though it's ending in a few day's).

From, Grace
aka Vanilla Orchids Festivities Team Leader

This is my Dad, me and my brothers. Taken at Easter time in 1967 or 1968

Taken in 1942

Please go to my genealogy page and read more about my family.
There you will find that his family is royalty

Poppa

There’s a saying in my family; "You have to be crazy to marry a Cary, because Carys are all crazy". All
through my childhood, adolescence, and teenage years I was reminded of this saying by my Dad. He was known
to perform such antics as: Clothed only in his birthday suit he would go out into the backyard, in the dead of
winter, and take a snow bath. Poppa insisted this was the reason he never caught a cold. Then, there were the
times he created beautifully decorated cakes for someone’s birthday or anniversary only to have hollowed out
the middle and placed a balloon inside. The results were to say the very least, explosive. He was the epitome
of a "crazy Cary".

When Poppa was around we never knew what would happen. It could be some sort of practical joke, or one of
his many adventures into an uncharted territory. Whatever it was, we knew it had to be "crazy". One of his
best jokes actually turned into an unforgettable adventure for the whole family.

For years Poppa had wanted to try his hand at camping, but Momma was adamant in her refusal. There was no
way on Gods green earth she was going to sleep in the hard cold ground, cook over an open pit, and use an
outhouse. Poppa would let the matter drop for a while, then casually bring up the subject a few weeks later.
The answer was always the same: "NO!" One day something happened to change Mom’s mind. It was all
because of Poppa and his surprises.

It started out innocently enough. A day trip along the coast of Maine to visit friends staying at a nearby
campground. We were looking forward to lots of swimming and picnicking. Not long after our arrival, Poppa
said he needed to go to the store to pick up a few things he’d forgotten. Unbeknownst to us, he hurried home,
packed a few clothes and provisions, then drove back, stopping at another campground a few miles from
where we were. He rented an Apache camper for the weekend, and proceeded to set up the campsite. No one
suspected a thing, or gave second thought to how long he had been gone. 

Evening approached and Momma began dropping little hints about leaving, which Poppa ignored. He just sat
back in his lawn chair in front of the fire, smoking his pipe, and entertained everyone with his stories. Finally
out of desperation Momma firmly stated the lateness of the hour and insisted we leave. He smiled and agreed.
Wearily we all piled into the car and headed off into the warm moonlit night. The problem was, we were going
in the wrong direction. When Momma pointed out that small error Poppa laughed and kept on going. A few
moments later the car rolled to a stop. Poppa claimed he was to tired to drive home so he had rented a place
for us to stay. There in the beam of the car’s headlights was a complete campsite ready to be taken over by a
family of inexperienced campers. Straining to see what was at the edge of the lights we could barely make
out a picnic table and a campfire with wood already laid, waiting for that first match to bring it to life.
Behind the table, and a little to the right stood the camper complete with sleeping bags and other assorted
sundries. Momma, realizing she’d been had, graciously conceded her defeat and proceeded to check out all the
supplies, making sure nothing had been forgotten.

What was said between my parents after we were tucked in that night I do not know for sure. As I listened
to the snap and crackle of the fire, the wind rustling through the trees, and the low murmur of my parents
voices, I know Poppa had managed to convince Momma that everything would be fine.

That weekend changed all of us. Momma fell in love with camping and wanted to go all the time. For years
afterward we went camping every chance we got. Often in the summer we would move from our house to a
campground not far from home and lived there for six weeks or more. Poppa would commute back and forth to
work every day, while we stayed behind and soaked up the fresh air and sunshine. In the evenings as friends
and family gathered around our campfire, Poppa would begin one of his tall tales which almost always ended
up with us laughing so hard we just about wet our pants.

I have warm memories of those times we spent together camping as a family: the fun, meeting new people,
making new friends, learning to swim with Poppa by my side encouraging me, and the long walks we took
exploring the woods for wild blueberries. This was a whole new world opened up to us because of Poppa. I
was proud he was my Poppa and that he loved me.

His death has left a void that I now fill with anecdotes of the many jokes played on us, and of how we even
managed to turn the tables once or twice ourselves. Today, whenever I smell a campfire, hear the crackling of
the flames and the snapping of the wood, or catch a whiff of cherry pipe tobacco, I imagine I hear his
laughter echoing through the past and I smile.

By 

Bonnie Brace aka SpiritRose

Ok...here's my dad story...My dad 99.999999 percent of the time was a really 
cool guy, always very quiet, has a smile for everybody (I say was cuz he died 
from cancer this past March after a 4 week battle with it...yes it was short 
and he didn't suffer long)...he hardly ever got mad at me or my two younger 
sisters.  The one and only time I ever saw him get mad at me was when I was 
about 8 years old.  We had just been transferred to Albuquerque, NM, waiting 
to be placed in housing on the nearby air base.  I remember we were living in 
this really small trailer with no air conditioning and it was summer.  Me and 
my little sister (my baby sister hadn't been born yet) were goofing off in 
our room, hiding under our sheets and generally being loud.  What I didn't 
know was my dad was coming down the hallway and he stopped in the door of our 
room.  I decided to say the F word at that moment (second time in my whole 
life I ever swore...1st time was when i was 5 and we were living in England 
but that's another story).  Next thing I know...my butt is slapped...and 
slapped HARD!  I never jumped up so fast in my life...I thought it was my mom 
(which would have been worse if she had caught me swearing...we got our butts 
beat with a leather belt in those days).  I was shocked when I saw it was my 
dad.  And all he said was..."I won't tell your mom about it but it better not 
happen again."  Then he turned around and left.  Believe you me, I never 
swore again (till I hit high school lol).  God I miss him so much.  It's 
going to be hard this month because his birthday always falls 3 days after 
father's day (except the one time I remember it being ON father's day).  But 
life goes on...and I know he's watching over me and my family.

Belinda

I would like to give a tribute to my father who was 99 years old last week !He 
decided to give up smoking last year as its not good for you he said lol, but
wouldn't give up his half a bottle of whiskey a week!
He has been the best Dad a girl could have and i love him dearly..

*Pattie*

Gosh, don't even know where to begin with my dad.  I have to admit, that I've been blessed
in many ways to have had a daddy like him. My parents have been divorced for almost 30 years and
   I look back and have so many wonderful memories.  Even though my parents were divorced, my dad remained very
  active in our lives and somehow both of my parents managed to put aside their differences with each other for the
 sake of me, my brother and sister.  I remember my dad was the one who took us to see every Disney movie there was
and when my children were born, he continued the tradition with them as well as build up our Disney library of
 videotapes. At 68, he is a kid at heart. My oldest son, who is 16, is very close to my dad.  They are fishing buddies :) 
 I remember when I was 17 and had gotten my first traffic ticket. Who does a girl run to, their daddy.  He wasn't even
 angry and didn't even yell at me.  He gave me a nice little lecture about driving and safety, said we don't need to tell
 your mother and I'll take care of this ticket. The list could go on and on with all the wonderful things my dad has given
  me. He immediately drove 350 miles when he learned I had gone into labor and was the first in our family to see his
 FIRST new grandbaby. I remember when I finally decided to file for divorce, my dad came 350 miles from San Antonio,
  TX to go with me, hold my hand, and support me emotionally with this difficult decision.  Actually, both my parents
were there for me.  We had a scare not too long ago with him....prostate cancer.   He is fine now but it made me really
  realize how truly lucky we are to have been blessed by his presence.  I've always thought it would have been pretty
 cool to know my dad when he was much younger.  Below you will find one of my favorite pics of him, when he was 18. 
Pretty handsome I think *smile*

Barbara

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Grace Buckley