Father told me to “grab a bag and get goin!” We waited on the corner of
South Caldwell St. for the orange open hand to change to a walking man.
Once it changed, I wrapped my hands around the heavy bag and made my
way to the other side of the street. Father always walked with a purpose.
His feet never dragged. They only made wide strides. The full head of
white hair waved as the wind whispered rumors of a storm. I’m only 12,
but I wonder how much time I have left with my father before he is gone.
Don’t get me wrong, he’s healthy and strong but not young.
I didn’t worry about Mother. Her hair is still red and her skin is still flushed.
Finally, we walk into a bustling building and set our bags down.
I see men, women, and children all packing canned goods like we were
preparing for war. Father says, “A candle throws his beams! So shines a
good deed in a weary world!”
I guess that’s why I’m here.
you have a talent in writing I hope you keep writing more and more ,