Things about my Dad

 My Dad, Freddie Joseph Collins.

My Dad was born in 1918.

He was a WWII veteran who was shot in Okinawa.

He said that day was the best day of his life.

He knew he was going to die or go home.

Another story I told a friend recently that made the hair 

stand up on his arms.

Dad was shot in his leg, went in and out one leg and lodged 

in the second leg. As he lay on the ground bleeding,

the Japanese soldier came up to him, gun pointed.

My Dad made eye contact with him, he knew he was going to die.

The soldier put down his gun and walked away.

My Dad once told me that human contact is stronger than any war.

At this time my Dad had two children and my Mom was pregnant for the third.

Because that soldier spared my Dad's life,

he and Momma went on to have 4 more children.

I being the last, the baby.

Daddy was 45 when I was born.

He had many occupations but his main occupation 

was professional photographer back when not everyone owned a camera.

Because of his was injury and health reasons, he was forced

to retire when I was three years old.

I have one professional baby photo of myself taken by my Daddy.

He was bitter about not being able to work anymore and aside

from one photo taken because my sister begged,

he never held a camera again, never took another photo.

Because he was a stay home Dad and Mom worked at Randolph's restaurant,

the three last kiddo's were unconventionally  raised by Daddy.

He put all his entrepreneur skills into these three last girls.

We had homemade meals every day. 

Home made bread, all food from scratch from his garden and

the seafood he got when he was in his boat most days.

I was 5 when I was diagnosed with childhood cancer of a kidney.

Back then, 1968 things were very different.

That is for another blog.

He had trouble ever leaving me in that hospital ward.

Parents were not able to stay with their children over night

but my Dad refused to leave. 

He would come back up after all other parents had left 

to the sound of crying children.

He would rock me and put me to bed and 

head to other children crying and rock and tuck them in.

My Dad, a big burly man with the kindest heart.

My Dad died when I was 20. 

The one thing he always wanted is to live to raise all his children.

He accomplished this and was able to see me as a nurse.

I moved back home after nursing school because he was very sick

and not the same man he was when we were young.

He would become angry sometimes unlike the Dad I grew up with.

Yet, there was still a lot of him there as well.

I worked nights and about 4:30 each morning he would call up at the hospital.

"What do you want for breakfast?" 

No matter what it was, he cooked it.

Homemade biscuits, friend pork chops, when I got home it was ready for me.

I would then go lay in he and Mom's kingsize bed and sleep until 

it was time for supper.

To say I was spoiled would be an understatement.

After a month in the hospital he died at the age of 63.

I remember thinking he was old, had a good life.

Now that I am pushing 60, I think, he was so young.

I could go on and on about my Daddy,

I have to stop somewhere...

If you have elderly people in your life, go and talk to them.

Let this be the year that you find out the stories that will be important

to you when they pass.

We are at a time where it is simple to make a video of these gems

telling their stories.

You will not only be glad you did it for yourself but so many are so lonely.

You will make their day, their week, maybe their year!