Daddy's Home! - by Jannie

I remember living on Gentry Street , playing with Charity and Sundee, when suddenly one of us would catch a glimpse of Dad’s car pulling into the driveway and yell, “Daddy’s home!” With that, we all rushed to the front door and danced excitedly in the entryway, hardly able to contain ourselves just knowing Daddy was coming through that door any second. Then, the doorknob turned, and the French door slowly swung open and there he stood – white shirt and tie, big 80s reading glasses, a briefcase in hand and his suit coat draped over his forearm.

“YAAAAAAAAAAAY!” we squealed as we ran to hug him...or rather hang on him. One of us hugged the right leg and sat on his foot while another did the same, plopping down on his left. One of us wouldn’t get a foot to sit on, which too bad because that was the favorite limb to get. But that was ok – we could still cling to his arm, and Daddy would give us a ride as he slowly made his way out of our white tiled entryway with a little girl on every free limb. Left, plop. Right, plop. Heave the right arm. Left, plop. Right, plop. Heave the right arm….

Mom would hustle in and see her three little monkeys hanging all over her worn-out husband and try to teach us manners. “Oh, get off him! Let him walk!” Then Mommy and Daddy had a little kissy kissy, and it was back to “Get OFF of him! He’s worked all day. Just let him rest!”

“Awww,” we would moan as we slowly obeyed. We hung on his one free hand a little, then we were back to play – for we knew that tomorrow promised another chance to ride on Daddy’s foot!