A Father's Love

My earliest memory was at the kitchen table, in the morning, while I made Rice Krispies. I had to stand on the chair to pour the milk (partly missing the bowl) and when I sat back down, puddles of milk and cereal dotted the table from the overflow. Between mouthfuls, I blew on the scattered rice that looked like little boats sailing away. And with my finger, I connected the puddles, making rivers, and when the spilt milk was too thin to spread I'd spoon some extra… (more)

My earliest memory was at the kitchen table, in the morning, while I made Rice Krispies. I had to stand on the chair to pour the milk (partly missing the bowl) and when I sat back down, puddles of milk and cereal dotted the table from the overflow. Between mouthfuls, I blew on the scattered rice that looked like little boats sailing away. And with my finger, I connected the puddles, making rivers, and when the spilt milk was too thin to spread I'd spoon some extra from my bowl. Out of nowhere came Dad. At first, I thought, he was going to holler, but he grinned and lifted me high off the chair. "How's my little queenie," he said. He then carried me to the living room and sat me on his lap. He kissed my forehead, scratching my cheek with his face, and it tickled. But after a while I wanted to get up. Daisy was crying in another room. He didn't seem to notice, and with his arms locked around me, he said, "Daddy's got to sleep."