Waiting for Daddy...

Waiting for Daddy…

It is a warm afternoon in a small Southern town - warm enough for short sleeves.  Young children could play outside unattended and alone.  It was the first house my parents built, and it is the first house I remember – made of brick and on a “good” street by local standards.  Our neighbors included our family doctor who would stop by on his way home with medicine for a sick child. 

Memories include the Esso station, the hardware store, the Piggly Wiggly and vague interior details of a few houses where my mother would play bridge with friends.

I was young – no more than four years old.  My younger brother may have been taking his afternoon nap.  That would be a likely reason for me to be outside on most days when the school day ended. 

Our backyard looked across what may have been a vacant lot or small field, and you could see the parking lot of the school.  If there were trees or a hedge, the growth was not mature enough to significantly block the view.  My daddy worked there as a teacher, coach and administrator.  In small towns educators wear many hats.  He wore a dark suit and tie to work, and maintained a slightly longer version of his Army haircut.  Daddy could fix anything and solve any problem.

The memories are fuzzy in the way that most early memories are.  We had a swing set that my dad may have made although I’m unsure on that point.  It was painted dark rust red.  There were one or two swing seats and a teeter totter.  The details I do remember would not pass current safety standards, but I don’t remember anyone getting hurt. 

There is a row of school buses – waiting to take students home at the end of the day. In those days, students walked, rode bikes or rode the bus.  I don’t remember car pool lines or student parking lots in my childhood.  I would have been too far away to hear the bell or other signal to end the school day.  But I remember the buses filling up with drivers and students.  The engines would turn over and idle while each bus driver waited until the next had pulled away.  Some days there would be an athletic practice or a teachers’ meeting but most days…the departure of the last bus meant Daddy would be home soon.

Dr. John C. Richardson completed a long career in the field of education, retiring from Clemson University.  He championed the causes of children with special needs and those living in rural areas.

 I am his proud daughter.