DADDY'S STEPS | Previous Challenge Entry

how it works

TITLE: DADDY'S STEPS | Previous Challenge Entry
By debbie edwards
12/06/12
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I remember it as if it were yesterday even though it was fifty years ago. I was five years old. My sister was seven. We lived with our parents in a cracker box sized bungalow in Berkeley California. Spending time with our father was rare back then since he worked a full time job at a local lumber company then dashed to night school across the bay in San Francisco. He was an aspiring law student who had a passion for real estate law. Because he adored his family, my father created memories out of weekends alone. On warm balmy Sunday afternoons we would go for a “Sunday drive.” This was always an adventure because my sister and I never knew just where we were going until we all piled in the car always waiting for our mother who had to put her finishing touches of her make up, toss out the cat, or lock the back door. Sometimes we would drive to Oakland at Lake Merritt park where there was an out doors band much like the Beatles movie Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Heart’s Club Band.” Other times we would step into the world of Fairyland which was a popular children’s park also in Oakland. It had an enchanting puppet theatre featuring popular stories such as Pinocchio. We couldn’t go there without the magic golden key. I didn’t care if it was plastic. To me, it opened a door to many story books in the park that would tell wonderful stories like Alice in Wonderland and the Three Little Pigs while we watched the statues in the park settings.
On summer Saturday or Sunday afternoons, we would drive to an ice-cream parlor for a huge ice cream cone. I always chose coffee ice cream. My father chose butter pecan while my mother who was from the south chose peach. My sister did not always have a prize flavor would choose what ever exotic flavor the store had. But always, my mother would horrify us by actually biting into the ice-cream and never hurting her teeth with the coldness of the confection.
There were times on the days when we chose to stay home, my father who was very eclectic in music would put on one of his records and dance with my sister and I. His idea of dancing with us was to place our tiny paten leather shoe feet on his while we placed our arms around his waist. Then he proceeded to either waltz or to dance the two step. It was a contest to see how long we could stand on daddy’s feet before we would slide off. I did not know what I loved the most dancing waltzes on his wide size triple “e” feet or the two step. Years later, when we were much older and young ladies we would attend family weddings with our parents. During these times, it was a breathtaking experience to dance with my dad. This time of course, we were too old to stand on his feet to dance. I can’t say that I didn’t step on his feet accidentally once or twice.
Our father has been gone for two years now. I imagine he is probably dancing with Jesus. His dancing steps live on within my heart. Even though I am in my middle ages deep inside of me I will always be that little girl who danced on her daddy’s feet while he did the two step and the waltz.

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