November 29, 1045 Won't Be Home For Christmas
11/29/45
Dad,
I can tell you are getting homesick. You wrote so soon after the last letter - you don't do that all the time. I'm sorry you won't be back for Christmas and now, you are also saddled with worry about Grandma and Grandpa losing the farm because Uncle Johnny will be leaving for the Army. I hope he doesn't have to go in.
Oh, Dad. There is so much I need to talk to you about. So much I've realized in the last couple of years. And I need you. Do you remember helping me learn to balance on Allan's little purple bicycle?
You pulled into the yard on your tractor and there I was sitting in the bottom of the "V" on that big green bike, holding onto the white handles above my head and pushing off to glide down the driveway because I wasn't tall enough to reach the pedals. I couldn't have ridden one anyway - I couldn't balance one if I was sitting on the seat.
You drove the tractor past me and you were smiling at me - like you always did. Dad, even as a child, I thought you had the most wonderful smile! You jumped off the tractor and disappeared into the garage and a moment later, out you came with Allan's little purple bike. You spent the rest of the afternoon running beside me, calmly telling me close to my ear just what to do to so that I wouldn't fall.
I never got to tell you while you were awake how much I appreciate all the times you did that for me. I want you to know that is who I am, too. I ran beside my daughter, and I will always be there for her, running beside her, just like you taught me to do. Like you did for me. I love you Dad. Sorry that you didn't make it home for Christmas.
Patti
Dad,
I can tell you are getting homesick. You wrote so soon after the last letter - you don't do that all the time. I'm sorry you won't be back for Christmas and now, you are also saddled with worry about Grandma and Grandpa losing the farm because Uncle Johnny will be leaving for the Army. I hope he doesn't have to go in.
Oh, Dad. There is so much I need to talk to you about. So much I've realized in the last couple of years. And I need you. Do you remember helping me learn to balance on Allan's little purple bicycle?
You pulled into the yard on your tractor and there I was sitting in the bottom of the "V" on that big green bike, holding onto the white handles above my head and pushing off to glide down the driveway because I wasn't tall enough to reach the pedals. I couldn't have ridden one anyway - I couldn't balance one if I was sitting on the seat.
You drove the tractor past me and you were smiling at me - like you always did. Dad, even as a child, I thought you had the most wonderful smile! You jumped off the tractor and disappeared into the garage and a moment later, out you came with Allan's little purple bike. You spent the rest of the afternoon running beside me, calmly telling me close to my ear just what to do to so that I wouldn't fall.
I never got to tell you while you were awake how much I appreciate all the times you did that for me. I want you to know that is who I am, too. I ran beside my daughter, and I will always be there for her, running beside her, just like you taught me to do. Like you did for me. I love you Dad. Sorry that you didn't make it home for Christmas.
Patti
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