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Jerry's Stories, Page 2

THE FAMILY OF BESSIE EDNA BROWN & THOMAS MONNIE WOODS

HOME | SAYINGS | LETTERS | STORIES | POEMS | DIARIES | HISTORY | TREE

Back in 1980 when my young family moved to Deer Park, the house we moved into had a drainage problem in the back yard. When it rained water stood at the back of the patio and stayed until it evaporated because there was no where for it to drain. I put in four inch drains and dug a trench to the street, tunneling under the sidewalk, and ending up where the driveway intersected the curb. That's where the drain ended up and I used ready mix to patch around the end of it. The other side also needed repair so I fixed that too. While I was working on it Jaime followed me around like a shadow, she was 3, and I let her help, which I did when there was something she could do. When we finished that side I let her put her hand print in the wet cement. It was still there when I moved in 1991, and still there when I went over to Zach's Spice Co. back in March. I drove by the old house and looked down and there it was, I couldn't believe it survived 24 years. It had tremendous sentimental value to me and I thought Jaime would like it too. I talked to the people that live there and got permission to get it. Anyway Clayton and I went over there and found out how it had survived, it had a piece of rebar running through it. It broke in half right through the hand print but I was able to glue it back with some liquid nails. The print was eroded pretty badly so I colored it in with some charcoal. I wrote a poem about that day she put her hand print in the wet cement and mounted it the best I could and gave it to her for Christmas. It was a very emotional moment, I told the story about it and when I pulled it out of the bag we all had tears in our eyes so much so that no one could read the poem. Carla finally did. When Jaime hugged my neck it was one of the most touching moments I have ever shared with a child of mine and I don't think either one of us will ever forget how close we felt at that moment. Who would think a piece of old ready mix could evoke such feelings? Here are two attachments, one of the stone and one of the poem. 

Jaime’s Poem

 

                    

It stood there like a sentinel, a stone that knew no time,

Guarding what, it didn’t know, no reason and no rhyme.

 

It was 1980,  Jaime was barely three years old,

Her eyes were blue as the sea, her hair like fine spun gold.

 

She followed me everywhere I went, I remember that spring day,

“Daddy what are you doing?”  “Daddy come on let’s play.”

 

“Can’t play right now, got work to do, come on now, don’t pout,”

“Let’s mix a little concrete, you can help me out.”

 

Her little hands clapped together and sparks lit up her eyes,

“I can do that Daddy, I make good mud pies.”

 

We worked like that together, she would say we played,

Looking back so long ago, I’m thankful that she stayed.

 

We formed that stone of wet cement to patch our old driveway,

She used her little hands as tools, she molded it like clay.

 

She worked, she frowned, her tongue stuck out, she twirled it round and round,

She shaped that stone to perfect shape, like the old one, pound for pound.

 

She looked at me and smiled that smile, that always touched my heart,

“How’s that Daddy?” She implored, and smoothed the final part.

 

“Just one more touch my little girl, my innocent sweetheart,”

“Take your hand and push it down and sign your work of art.”

 

With her little paw she made a print that lasted through the years,

Through hurricanes and many storms, and yes, there were some tears.

 

A Daddy’s love, a daughters love, once born, they’re never gone,

She left her mark in my heart, and also etched in stone.

 

And so my daughter here’s that stone, you signed so long ago,

Guarding what, it wants to know, through wind and rain and snow.

 

I’ll tell you stone just what it is, it’s simple you will find,

A twinkle from a day foregone, a cherished tick in time.

 

For there’s nothing on this big blue earth, or in this whole wide world,

That can ever be as precious, as the love of Daddy’s girl.

 

Love You, Then, Now, and Always,

Daddy

 

Christmas, 2004

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