I used to scrap grease off his shop floor. I would bust open my little toe at least once a week running to call him for lunch. We planted gardens, mowed yards, worked at the chicken houses, rode 4 wheelers, drank sweet tea and gave awesome hugs.
He was a mean wa-hoo player, don't ask him to have mercy on you. He made a good fried egg for breakfast. He had the whitest feet I'd ever seen, and he use to soak them in a warm tub of water with epsom salt in it each night. He like cornbread soak in milk for dinner. He loved to pick on everyone, and his eyes always gave him away when he got the best of you.
He was faithful to his wife, to his family and to God. He wore a suit to church and sang like an angel and with all his heart. His voice had this amazingly calming inflection in it when he prayed. When he said the dinner prayer, it was the same one every time. And every time, he meant each word. He didn't read much but he listend when Grandma played taped sermons and read the Bible aloud. He was the head of our family, and he served us all well.
It's a sign of a great man, when even after having been gone four years his presence in our lives still has such a strong hold. It's hard to believe it's been four years b/c it seems like to just yesterday he held my babies and beamed with pride. I can still hear him call out as I left that last time: "Girl, you be good now." I always retorted back, "Boy, you behave!" He always said he did, and his eyes would twinkle with that mischief that always seemed to hide there.
Ah, Paw-paw, I don't think I'll ever get over missing having you here.
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