Sitting in daddy's lap boucing up and down as his feet tap to the sound of James Brown playing in the background. Trying to sing, lacking the talent, but If I had to vote. He would be number one on my ballot. Loved to make partical jokes and boy did he hate the smell of cigarette smoke. Remember him cutting my brother's hair in even strokes. Everywhere we went we properly represented our fokes. Always there to listen even when my brother cried about his jelly bicit being broke in half. Together we often shared laughs and he would always remind us when to take a bath. Nothing I prevously stated about him is a lie. Why did this loving father have to die? 11 years old was I and my brother one number below me. My youngest brother four and for awhile he was quite lonely. And the so called men that tryed to take my father's place were all phoney. Sitting in daddy's lap went by fast and now it's just a frequent memory of the past. Oh how I wish it could have lasted longer, but my memories will always be stronger then my grieving. Which will no time soon be leaving.