I Remember
I remember as a little child my father would roll around on the humble puke green carpet with me and give me whisker rubs. I remember sitting on any radiator in the house and basking in the warmth, or helping Dad cut fine kindling wood for a roaring fire in the winter time. I remember crawling around in white kitchen cupboards, hiding from siblings, or just getting away from everything going on. I remember sitting on the love seat in the dining room, or the dining room table playing scrabble with Mom on Sunday night. I remember watching Dad late at night at the desk in his study drawing up plans for his next day’s work. I remember sitting, lying, sleeping on the living room floor, at the feet of my parents where they taught us about life, God, family, and the practical things of live. I remember many nights coming into Mom and Dad's bedroom, seeing mom lying in bed reading a book, or sitting on the edge of the bed and receiving many priesthood blessings from my father. I remember five children sleeping in the other bedroom, carrying on, talking, laughing, crying, and praying. I remember Sunday dinners sitting on the perfectly crafted benches of my father, kneeling down, pinching, laughing, praying as a family, and then sitting for a prayer of gratitude and blessing on the hard earned food. I remember the children’s playroom where all of us would play, open mom's cedar chest, put on costumes, and play with toys. I remember every Saturday dusting, sweeping, scrubbing, cleaning, every nook and corner of the house. I remember seeing Dad in the old back porch faithfully shining his shoes every Sunday. I remember many summer nights sitting on the lit front porch, talking, visiting with neighbors as they passed by, watching fireworks from Liberty Park, enjoying many beautiful sunsets, and hearing the peacock at night from the Tracy Aviary. I remember the arduous task of hanging and taking down clothes from the clothes line in the backyard, and doing the same thing with the clothes line in the basement during the winter. I remember the mantled bookcases in the living room, the nicely cleaned, waxed, hardwood floors. I remember visiting Dad in his humble garage/carpenter' shop, admiring his calloused rough hands, as they skillfully built our family's life. I remember the very same corner of the living room, till this day, of me sitting, lying on my mom's lap, while she sang my childhood favorite " My Heavenly Father Loves me." I remember weeding, hand tilling, growing delicious, corn, carrots, beets, radishes, tomatoes, and peaches from our two and only favorite peach trees. I remember Mom and Dad working so hard outside our home, every Saturday, hoeing weeds, sweeping, washing the walks, everything done with so much pride. I remember every morning before Mom went to work, hearing her behind her closed bedroom door praying, crying, and pleading with the Lord to help her raise her family. I will continue to remember the home of my entire life. Everything I am and hope to be was forged in this home of life. I will never soon forget, with praise and adoration, our families home. Our home will always be in our hearts. I will always remember the only place I have ever known, which is fondly heard from everyone, the Lyman home.
