By Hazel P. Hedrick © 1983
Issue: September, 1983
He was a man, like very few
was little, and quite loud.
He sang a lot and laughed a lot,
stood out in any crowd.
I guess ‘bout him, some would say,
and I suppose some did,
(because he truly looked that way)
my pa was like a kid.
To me, my pa stood straight and tall,
one very special guy.
He never swore or lied at all
and never once got high.
He loved his wife, anyone could see
by the way he held her hand.
He shared with her most all his life,
and now God’s promised land.
He loved his kids, I know because
he always told us so,
and if he had one single flaw
I never came to know.
He’d hold our head when we were sick,
or when a tooth would ache
He’d come a running to us quick,
when he would hear us wake.
He’d rock us in Ma’s rocking chair,
tell us tall tales and sing
we knew that he did really care,
‘bout us and everything.
So long as Pa would hold us tight,
tell tales and sing and rock
he’d make most everything all right,
midnight or three o’clock.
I still recall how great he was
and you’d remember too
if you had heard his songs of love
and had them sung to you.
Pa always wore bib overalls,
near big enough for two,
and always had the time to talk,
to everyone he knew.
I think my Pa knew how to call
the mate of any bird
and he could bark just like a dog,
I know because I heard.
I think my pa knew every call
the birds and animals make,
my pa could call and mimic all,
‘cept maybe charm a snake.
While walking to the mill or store
he’d sing along the way.
He’d sing Amazing Grace, and more
while plowing every day.
I know the folks for miles around
all, heard my daddy sing,
cause when he sang, a happy sound,
did through those valleys ring.
I know if I should ever reach
that place called Heaven’s Shore,
I’ll hear my pa a singing loud,
when I walk through the door.
If Old Saint Peter lets me in,
I’ll sit on daddy’s knee,
and while he’s holding mama’s hand,
they’ll sing a song for me.