American Patriotism

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Much more on American Patriotism

Father’s Day Quotes

Fathers, like mothers, are not born. Men grow into fathers and fathering is a very important stage in their development. – David Gottesman

Blessed indeed is the man who hears many gentle voices call him father! - Lydia M. Child

It is much easier to become a father than to be one. – Kent Nerburn

By profession I am a soldier and take pride in that fact.

But I am prouder – infinitely prouder – to be a father. A soldier destroys in order to build; the father only builds, never destroys. The one has the potentiality of death; the other embodies creation and life. And while the hordes of death are mighty, the battalions of life are mightier still. It is my hope that my son, when I am gone, will remember me not from the battle field but in the home repeating with him our simple daily prayer, ‘Our Father who art in Heaven.’ – Douglas Macarthur

One night a father overheard his son pray: Dear God, Make me the kind of man my Daddy is. Later that night, the Father prayed, Dear God, Make me the kind of man my son wants me to be. - Anonymous

One father is more than a hundred schoolmasters. - George Herbert

Be kind to thy father, for when thou were young, who loved thee so fondly as he? He caught the first accents that fell from thy tongue, and joined in thy innocent glee. - Margaret Courtney

It doesn’t matter who my father was; it matters who I remember he was. - Anne Sexton

When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much he had learned in seven years. - Mark Twain

My father died many years ago, and yet when something special happens to me, I talk to him secretly not really knowing whether he hears, but it makes me feel better to half believe it. – Josefowitz

By the time a man realizes that maybe his father was right, he usually has a son who thinks he’s wrong. – Charles Wadsworth

I’ve had a hard life, but my hardships are nothing against the hardships that my father went through in order to get me to where I started. – Bartrand Hubbard

I talk and talk and talk, and I haven’t taught people in 50 years what my father taught by example in one week. – Mario Cuomo

Quotes found here:

10 Quotes in Honor of Fathers Day

I was touched by this because I never knew my father.  He died when I was very young.  When I married, my father -in-law became a “Dad” to me and I am very thankful for him and that he and my mother-in-law raised the wonderful man who has been my husband for 30 years and who is a wonderful father to our two sons.

From: Dale Stuemke

Writer, Marketer
Launch Your Goals
launchyourgoals.com

10 Quotes in Honor of Fathers Day

My wife was one of those children who grew up without a father in the house. In fact, she never knew him. When we got married almost 42 years ago, my father became her father. That was the closest she ever came to having a father. Although he is now in heaven, we think of him often.
She put together these quotes about fathers and wanted to share them with you in honor of Father’s Day:

• A father carries pictures where his money used to be. Author Unknown
• A man’s children and his garden both reflect the amount of weeding done during the growing season. Anonymous
• Dad, your guiding hand on my shoulder will remain with me forever. Author Unknown
• Good parents give their children Roots and Wings. Roots to know where home is, wings to fly away and exercise what’s been taught them. Jonas Salk
• It is a wise child that knows his own father. Homer
• I cannot think of any need in childhood as strong as the need for a father’s protection. Sigmond Freud
• My dear father; my dear friend; the best and wisest man I ever knew, who taught me many lessons and showed me many things as we went together along the country by-ways. Sarah Orne Jewett
• The father who does not teach his son his duties is equally guilty with the son who neglects them. Confucius
• The most important thing a father can do for his children is to love their mother. Henry Ward Beecher
• The love of a father is one of nature’s greatest masterpieces. Anonymous

List of Father’s Day Posts

Here is a list of some of the pages on this site about Father’s Day. You’ll want to use the search feature to find them all

• 10 Quotes in Honor of Fathers Day
• 1:Craft: Many of These Poems Can Be Used for Cards
• Activity: Coloring Page 1
• Activity: Coloring Page 2
• Activity: Coloring Page 3
• Activity: Father’s Day Word Scramble Puzzle
• Activity: Father’s Day Word Scramble Puzzle 1
• Activity: Father’s Day Word Scramble Puzzle 1 – ANSWERS
• Activity: Father’s Day Word Scramble Puzzle 2
• Activity: Father’s Day Word Scramble Puzzle 2 – ANSWERS
• Activity: Father’s Day Word Scramble Puzzle 3
• Activity: Father’s Day Word Scramble Puzzle 3 – ANSWERS
• Activity: Father’s Day Word Scramble Puzzle 4
• Activity: Father’s Day Word Scramble Puzzle 4 – ANSWERS
• Activity: Father’s Day Word Scramble Puzzle 5
• Activity: Father’s Day Word Scramble Puzzle 5 – ANSWERS
• Activity: Father’s Day Word Scramble Puzzle 6
• Activity: Father’s Day Word Scramble Puzzle 6 – ANSWERS
• Activity: Father’s Day Word Scramble Puzzle 7
• Activity: Father’s Day Word Scramble Puzzle 7 – ANSWERS
• Crafts: Homemade Gifts for Dad
• Crafts: More Fun Things To Make
• Father’s Day (Erma Bombeck)
• Father’s Day Crafts for Kids
• Father’s Day Quotes
• Fun Activities
• History of Father’s Day
• List of Father’s Day Posts
• My Father, the Hero
• Official Proclamation of Father’s Day
• Quotes About Fathers
• Unconditional Love (spring flowers)

Ma and Her Checkbook (Humor)

Edgar Guest

Ma has a dandy little book that’s full of narrow slips,
An’ when she wants to pay a bill a page from it she rips;
She just writes in the dollars and the cents and signs her name
An’ that’s as good as money, though it doesn’t look the same.

When she wants another bonnet or some feathers for her neck,
She promptly goes an’ gets ‘em, an’ she writes another check.
I don’t just understand it, but I know she sputters when
Pa says to her at supper: “Well! You’re overdrawn again!”

Ma’s not a business woman, she is much too kind of heart
To squabble over pennies or to play a selfish part,
An’ when someone asks for money, she’s not one to stop an’ think
Of a little piece of paper an’ the cost of pen an’ ink.
She just tells him very sweetly if he’ll only wait a bit
An’ be seated in the parlor, she will write a check for it.

She can write one out for twenty just as easily as ten,
An’ forgets that Pa may grumble: “Well, you’re overdrawn again!”
Pa says it looks as though he’ll have to start in workin’ nights
To gather in the money for the checks that mother writes.
He says that every morning when he’s sum- moned to the phone,
He’s afraid the bank is calling to make mother’s shortage known.
He tells his friends if ever anything our fortune wrecks
They can trace it to the moment mother started writing checks.
He’s got so that he trembles when he sees her fountain pen
An’ he mutters: “Do be careful! You’ll be overdrawn again!”

Raising Boys

I scrub the wall of fingerprints,
Pick up the mounds of clothes.
I sweep the dirt that shoes track in-
Wish I could use a hose!
Meals are served from dawn to dark,
Dirty dishes crowd the sink.
Just when they’re washed and put away-
Everyone wants a drink!
The washer pulls the dirty grime
From pants worn thin and patched.
They look so very neat and clean-
Yuck, look what the pockets hatched!
Broken bones and bloody knees,
I should have been a nurse.
I take it all in shaky stride-
Just grateful it’s not worse!
Screams and shouts and arguments
Test the keeping of my cool.
They left the neighbor’s faucet on-
See their new front yard pool!
A soothing bath is ecstasy,
A reward at the end of my rope.
Raising boys isn’t really bad-
But first I must wash the soap!
A rose can say I Love You,
Orchids can enthrall;
But a weed bouquet in a chubby fist,
Oh my, that says it all!

Roberta I. Teague

Make a Wish, Mommy

by Susan Fahncke

Sometimes Life’s greatest lessons are the ones we would never be able to
learn without difficult circumstances leading us there.

It was my 28th birthday, and I was depressed. Divorced, raising two
children alone, and too poor to even afford a telephone, I was going
through the most dark and depressing time in my life. I hadn’t lived in
Utah very long, and was still trying to adjust to the snow, and this
particular January was one of the most brutal in years.

The snow outside was literally thigh-high, and it was a daily struggle
to leave the house, adding to my isolation. My son Nicholas was in
Kindergarten, and I was a Junior at nearby Weber State University. I
had taken the quarter off because my five month-old, Maya, had been very
ill, so I had little social interaction. It was a winter of loneliness
for me, but also of incredible closeness with my children. My small
son, with his enormous child-sized heart taught me the greatest lesson.

The day before my birthday, I was a grouch. I was used to celebrating
it with the friends I had moved away from. I was used to presents and
phone calls, none of which I would be receiving this time. Feeling
sorry for myself was becoming comfortable for me. Depression became so
second-nature that I didn’t even remember the happy, laughing person I
used to be. I was so wrapped up in my own problems that I couldn’t even
see that the greatest joys, blessings and sources of laughter that I
would ever know were right there in front of me.

Tucking the children into bed that night, I was in a cloud of
hopelessness. My little Nick, wrapping his chubby six-year old arms
around my neck and said “Tomorrow’s your birthday, Mommy! I can’t
wait!” His blue eyes sparkled with an anticipation that mystified me.

Kissing his sweet rosy cheeks, I hoped that he didn’t expect a birthday
party to magically appear, like it does on his birthday. Life is so
simple when you’re six.

The next morning, I awoke before the children, and began making
breakfast. Hearing noises in our tiny living room, I assumed Nick was
up, and waited for him to come in to eat. Then I could hear Nick talking
to Maya. He was sternly telling her to make Mommy smile today.

It suddenly hit me. Being so wrapped up in my misery, I didn’t see how
it affected my children. Even my little boy sensed I wasn’t happy, and
was doing his best to do something about it. Tears of shame at my
selfishness washed down my face. I knelt down in our little kitchen and
asked for the strength to somehow find happiness again. I asked God to
show me some beauty in my life. I asked Him to help me see, really see
the blessings I did have.

Putting a smile on my face, I marched myself into the living room to hug
my children. There sat Nick on the floor, Maya on her blanket next to
him, and in front of them was a pile of presents. A birthday party for
three.

I looked at the pile of presents. Then my eyes went disbelieving, back
to my son. His face was gleeful at my shock. “I surprised you, Mommy,
didn’t I? Happy Birthday!” He grinned his toothless, adorable grin.

Stunned, I knelt down next to him and with tears in my eyes, I asked him
how in the world he had possibly found a way to get me presents. He
reminded me of our trip to “All A Dollar”. I suddenly remembered him
telling me he was spending the allowance he had been saving for ages. I
had laughed at his bulging pockets and remembered thinking that he
walked like John Wayne, his pants loaded down with his life savings. I
had almost chided him for spending everything he had so carefully saved,
but thought better of it, and did my shopping while he did his.

Looking again at the beautiful pile of presents in front of me, I
couldn’t believe that my small, darling son had spent everything he had
in his crayon bank on ME. On his mom. What kind of kid goes without
the toys he wanted so that he could buy his MOM a pile of presents?
There. I heard the voice in my heart. I am showing you your blessings.
How could you ever doubt them? My prayers were being answered. No one
was more blessed, and no one had more to be thankful for than I did. I
had been so selfish and petty to feel unhappy with my life.

With tears flowing, I gently hugged my son and daughter and told them
how lucky I was. At Nick’s eager prompting, I carefully opened each
present. A bracelet. A necklace. Another bracelet. Nail polish.
Another bracelet. My favorite candy bars. Another bracelet. The
thoughtful gifts, each wrapped in gift bags and wrapping paper purchased
with a six-year old’s allowance were the most perfect I’ve ever
received. The final gift was his personal favorite. A wax birthday
cake with the words “I love you” painted in fake frosting across the
top.

“You have to have a birthday cake, Mom.” My oh-so wise little one =
informed me.

“It’s the most beautiful cake I’ve ever seen” I told him. And it was.
He then sang to me, “Happy Birthday” in his sweet little-boy voice that
melted my heart and brought on more tears. “Make a wish, Mommy” he
insisted.

I looked into my little boy’s shining blue eyes and couldn’t think of a
single thing I wished for. “I already got my wish.” I whispered
through the tears. “I have you.”

Mama Always Loved Carnations

It’s been 26 years since my Army buddy Dan and I
loaded his metallic blue 427 Corvette with ice coolers,
cutoffs and T-shirts, and drove past the somber-faced
military police at Fort McClellan’s main gate. Armed with
weekend passes and pockets full of crisp, new dollars from
our first week’s pay at our Army Reserve summer camp, we
were on our way to Florida – and the Army was the last
thing on our minds. Blessed by not finding our names on
the weekend duty roster, we had decided a weekend at the
beach would be just the thing we needed to recover from
four days of C-rations and mosquitoes in the hills of
eastern Alabama.

Our camp that year was early. The May weather had
been delightful, and with the top down and stereo up, we
cruised into Birmingham and decided to stop to phone our
mothers and wish them happy Mother’s Day before resuming
our journey south on I-65.

Reaching my mother at home, I learned she had just
returned from grocery shopping. I could tell by the tone
in her voice that she was disappointed I wouldn’t be
spending her special day with the family. “Have a nice
trip and be careful. We’ll miss you,” she said.
When I got back into the car, I could tell by Dan’s
face that he was suffering from the same guilty conscience
that was haunting me. Then we had the brainstorm. Send
flowers, of course.

Pulling into the parking lot of a southside Birmingham
florist, we each scribbled a note to go with the flowers
that would absolve us of the guilt of spending our only
free weekend on the beach rather than with dear old Mom.
We waited while the clerk assisted a little boy who
was selecting a floral arrangement, obviously for his
mother. Fidgeting by now, we were anxious to pay for our
flowers and be on our way.

The little boy beamed with pride as he turned to me
and held up his selection while the clerk rang up his
order. “I’m sure my mama would love these,” he said.
“These are carnations. Mama always loved carnations.”
“I’m going to put them with some flowers from our
yard,” he added, “before I take them to the cemetery.”
I looked up at the clerk, who was turning away and
reaching for a handkerchief. Then I looked at Dan. We
watched the little boy leave the store with his prized
bouquet and crawl into the back seat of his dad’s car.
“Have you fellas made a selection?” asked the clerk,
barely able to speak.

“I guess we have,” answered Dan. We dropped our notes
in the trash and walked to his car in silence.
“I’ll pick you up Sunday evening about five,” said
Dan, as he pulled up in front of my parents’ house.
“I’ll be ready,” I answered, as I wrestled my duffel
bag out of the back of the car.
Florida would have to wait.

By Niki Sepsas
from Chicken Soup for the Mother’s Soul
Copyright 1997 Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Jennifer
Read Hawthorne, and Ron Marci Shimoff

When a Mother Blows Out 75 Candles

She secretly hopes a tank of oxygen is one of her gifts.

Through the years she has hollered, said and prayed, “Jesus,
Mary and Joseph, grant me patience!” 1,245,187 times.

Her hands have hung diapers on pulley clotheslines, sterilized
bottles, carried babies from the third-floor apartment, ironed
sunsuits and proudly pushed baby buggies.

She has peeled more potatoes than six marines on K.P. duty.

Her hair has been set in steel curlers, permed, rinsed with
Nestle’s coloring capsules, and styled in pageboys, the poodle
look and the beehive hairdo; been permed again and turned
silver.

The “parlor” was where she entertained company, the “pantry”
held the groceries, the “icebox” held a pint of ice cream, and
the “wringer washing machine” was hers to use on Tuesday.

She has earned her nursing degree through measles, chicken pox,
mumps, pneumonia, polio, TB, fevers, stitches, flu, fractured
arms and broken hearts.

At one time or another her closet held housedresses, feathered
hats, white gloves, skirts with short hemlines and with long
hemlines, pants suits, billowy dresses of chiffon, sheath
dresses, a Sunday coat and the Christmas toys she ordered from
the Sears catalog.

Her heart has known the ecstasy of a man’s love, the joy of
children, the heartbreak of their mistakes, the warmth of life’s
friendships, the celebration of weddings, the magnificent
blessings of grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

Who can count the floors she scrubbed, the dinners she cooked,
the birthday gifts she wrapped, the spelling words she listened
to, the bedtime stories she read, the excuses she heard, the
prayers she whispered to God each day?

Her arms have rocked generations of babies. Her hands have
prepared countless “favorite” dishes. Her knees have knelt in
prayer time and time again for those she loved. Her mouth has
kissed owwies that hurt. Her back has bent to bathe dirty
cowboys, pick up teens’ clothes, gather flowers from her garden
and grow old.

She has journeyed through life with its tears and laughter,
watching yesterday’s sunsets become tomorrow’s sunrises of hope
and promise. Because of her and the man who took her hand,
family life and love continue through the generations.

When a mother blows out 75 candles, blessed are they who
surround her with their love.

By Alice Collins

Perfect Little Angel, A

I had offered to watch my 3-year-old daughter, Ramanda, so that my wife could go out with a friend. I was getting some work done while Ramanda appeared to be having a good time in the other room. No problem, I figured. But then it got a little too quiet and I yelled out, “What are you doing, Ramanda?” No response. I repeated my question and heard her say, “Oh…nothing.” Nothing? What does “nothing” mean?

I got up from my desk and ran out into the living room, whereupon I saw her take off down the hall. I chased her up the stairs and watched her as her little behind made a hard left into the bedroom. I was gaining on her! She took off for the bathroom. Bad move. I had her cornered. I told her to turn around. She refused. I pulled out my big, mean, authoritative Daddy voice, “Young lady, I said turn around!”

Slowly, she turned toward me. In her hand was what was left of my wife’s new lipstick. And every square inch of her face was covered with bright red (except her lips of course)!

As she looked up at me with fearful eyes, lips trembling, I heard every voice that had been shouted to me as a child. “How could you…You should know better than that…How many times have you been told…What a bad thing to do…” It was just a matter of my picking out which old message I was going to use on her so that she would know what a bad girl she had been. But before I could let loose, I looked down at the sweatshirt my wife had put on her only an hour before. In big letters it said, “I’M A PERFECT LITTLE ANGEL!” I looked back up into her tearful eyes and instead of seeing a bad girl who didn’t listen, I saw a child of God…a perfect little angel full of worth, value and a wonderful spontaneity that I had come dangerously close to shaming out of her.

“Sweetheart, you look beautiful! Let’s take a picture so Mommy can see how special you look.” I took the picture and thanked God that I didn’t miss the opportunity to reaffirm what a perfect little angel He had given me.

– Nick Lazaris

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