Father's Day

One of my fondest memories as a child was having breakfast with my Papa. That's my father, for those who don't know me. Legend has it, when my mom was pregnant, Papa would talk to her belly, reffering to himself as such. Once I was born and reached the age of talking, he tried to get me to say 'Daddy'. I refused. I guess I didn't know who 'Daddy' was. Finally, he tried getting me to say 'Papa.' I repeated it immediately. He's been Papa to me and pretty much everyone who's ever known him since.

Papa worked swing shift when I was little. My mom worked during the day, so I stayed with him in the until it was time for him to go to work. Some mornings, I'm sure we had breakfast at home. Microwave scrambled eggs were his specialty and my favorite :) But the breakfasts I remember were either doughnut holes and chocolate milk from Burke's Bakery in Constitution Square or pancakes and sausage at the McDonald's on the hill in Danville.

Regardless of which culinary masterpiece or location we chose, the thing I remember most about those breakfasts was the time we spent together. Though I was just a little kid, we would sit and talk about whatever popped into my toddler mind. He didn't care I was babbling about my great-grandfather's ferrets or one of my Little Golden Books. He just wanted to spend time with me.

As I got older and even now, it doesn't matter what we do, Papa still just loves spending time with me, talking about whatever pops into my mind. Though we don't get as much face time, with me living in Georgia, I rarely go a day without talking to him - or my Mama, for that matter.

I love him so much and am very proud to call him my Papa. Happy Father's Day, Papa. you're the best.