It’s Friday, the day before Father’s Day. A wall of green surrounds Sandy Bay. The corn is so high, the tassels are wearing parachutes. Father’s Day doesn’t rank very high on our list of holidays. It ranks somewhere between Bugs Bunny’s birthday and IGA advertising Table Rite Pickled Pigs Feet for sale. Hallmark will sell 10 Valentine’s for every Father’s Day card. Daddy will receive a good meal, a necktie, socks, underwear and a lot of hugs.
Diamonds are a girl’s best friend. So I gave Peggy a friend for our 50th anniversary. Chuck looked at his mother’s ring and declared after 50 years you finally did something right! Noah looked at his grandmother’s ring and said, “Ma Ma, did Poo Pah give you some Windex to clean it with?” Will’s comment was, “I didn’t know Dollar General had a sale.”
It’s said a diamond can cut glass. I just wanted to make an impression on Peggy’s heart. She would have to grow more fingers for the diamonds she deserves. Her finger sparkles like a lightening bug revival.
Peggy complained about a pretty ring on an ugly hand. But her hands have been in a lot of dish water, her hands have washed a lot of diapers, cooked countless meals, the clothesline she’s filled up would reach half way to the moon. Her hands cleaned the same house, hugged grandchildren, her hands made a home. The ring is one carat. She deserves one as big as the courthouse for putting up with Charlie Walker for 50 years.
A lot of people with radios put up with Charlie Walker for a half century, but you didn’t have to sleep with me, too. The hands I held 50 years ago were soft as marshmallows. Now they are the color of red velvet cake. The liver spots are the size of pennies, and if the diamond on her hand matched what she has accomplished, it would be the size of the courthouse.