My mom is an eighth Chawkta Native American, and looks the part. She is fifty something and still has black hair. She is a loving person and will do anything to help anyone that needs it. The first time that I really realized that she swore like a sailor was when Charity met her. In Charity's words "it suits her". I guess that's why I never take any notice to her bad mouth, or it might be the fact that I grew up with it. I like it though, is that wrong? It seems to humanize her, or something. She is a genius in the kitchen and is always willing to feed anyone. "are you hungry? no? Well I'll just make you a sandwich then."
My dad is fifty seven and has had a hard life. Living a contractors life for thirty years has really taken its toll. He has broken his back a couple of times, and has a bad shoulder, but he can still out work me most days. Maybe that says more about me than him, but he has taught me the value of hard work. His niece about fifteen years ago told him that he got white paint in his red beard and it has just spread to the point where little red if any can be seen.
I have never seen my dad without a beard. Without it, I am told, he looks like a tortoise, that's why he says he will never be Bishop. Like me he can not carry a tune in a mac truck. I remember still to this day, when I was 3 years old, sitting on his lap in church. When a hyme was sung I asked him why he didn't sound like everyone else. He stopped singing, and looked sad, and has never sang in church again. My dad swears too, but I think in a little more reserved manner. His style and usage change, however, while he works on cars. He is no mechanic. He now paints oil paintings, and does pretty well for himself with it.
Those are my parents. I love them and am grateful for the support that they have given me through out my life.
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