Daddy and me on the homemade “go-kart” in downtown Marietta, North Carolina.
This photo of my Granddaddy Jones with his brothers and sisters had to have been taken in the teens or early 20s. He is the one with the guitar.
I barely remember Daddy Thad, my grandfather on the Parham side. He died when I was three. Here he is standing on the shore of Lake Waccamaw.
I’m not a corporate-made holiday person. I love my daddy and Granddaddy every day of the year, but Father’s Day is a great excuse to post photos of them. We swapped so many great family stories this week. I was absolutely a Daddy’s girl, and the memories of going fishing together (I got terribly seasick so didn’t get to go much) and learning to throw and catch a baseball are precious to me. I am such a tomboy.
Here’s a post that I wrote in 2005 about Daddy and farming that I like. He died so young, only 65 years old, and had rarely been sick before the colon cancer that took him. Get your colonoscopy, friends. It could save your life. You really don’t want to die of colon cancer.