Happy Father's Day to all my friends who are father's!! đź’–
"June 21, 2015, is Father’s Day in the United States. It was invented by Sonora Smart Dodd, whose single father, American Civil War veteran William Jackson Smart, raised her and her five siblings. It was first celebrated on June 19, 1910, in Spokane, Washington, two years after the first Mother’s Day was celebrated in Grafton, West Virginia. But while Mother’s Day was proclaimed by President Woodrow Wilson in 1914, Father’s Day didn’t wasn’t recognized until 1966 when President Lyndon B. Johnson proclaimed it."
It is so hard to leave this day go, without raising the flag to my own dad, who celebrated my journey through life as long as he was alive. He was an amazing role model and is still my hero. When someone asked me what was the most important thing my dad gave me in my lifetime, after think for a half a second, I said, "his uncondtional love."
I think that for the most part, we all love our fathers, but, I don't think we know the depth of it until they are gone.
Today was full of people I love and everyone's favorite foods. A perfect way to celebrate Father's Day.While my dad is no longer with me, his words and guiding light still shine on me from time to time. Have an incredible night!
Cake. There must be cake involved, somehow! Indulge, it is really sinful.
"Your father gives you many things in a lifetime.....most of which you will not appreciate until way after he is gone."
All I have are my words, armed in my mind, written in pen, stand by stand. Oh, yes. Still by hand. It has a different feel. Altered not by keys, backspace, and delete, I write, erase, tear it to pieces and start all over again. And again.
It’s my way. I walk out to the deep end of the page and dive right in.
This post is for #BeauitfulSunday by 
Hive account@ace108 where you share your day and #SublimeSunday By 
Hive account@c0ff33a where any random post will do. There will
#alwaysflower to color my world.
Anecdote for Fathers
I have a boy of five years old;
His face is fair and fresh to see;
His limbs are cast in beauty’s mold
And dearly he loves me.
One morn we strolled on our dry walk,
Or quiet home all full in view,
And held such intermitted talk
As we are wont to do.
My thoughts on former pleasures ran;
I thought of Kilve’s delightful shore,
Our pleasant home when spring began,
A long, long year before.*
William Wordsworth
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