Here are some more words which fought up through my limitations and spilled out on a page.
I am filled with thanks they did.
Now I share them with you.

Beds Are For Jumping Higher...   The Color Of Love


I have helped raised nine children, none of my own.

Six of them are still part of my life thirty years later.
We are bound by love.

One day when the eldest girl was about 12 or 13,
she jumped into my car saying,
"Poppy, I am so sorry I said,
'You can't tell me what to do, you’re not my real Dad.'
"
I don't remember her ever telling me those words, so she must have thought them.
She had been in San Diego with a friend who did tell her step dad those words, over and over.
They did not have a good weekend.

Eight years later she had a job working in a Buffalo Exchange second chance store.
She called me saying, "Get over here! We just got in a shipment of tall people clothes."
We were laughing and having a blast when the store manager came over
wanting to know what the fun was all about.
My daughter introduced me as her 'White Dad' then paused thoughtfully and said,
"That makes me an equal opportunity daughter!"
We all laughed and felt blest with love.

Indeed I am blest far beyond my expectations.
I have my children to thank for showing me my purpose.
I have my grandchildren to thank for letting me love them,
and for returning that love tenfold.

I am a blest Pop Pop, indeed.