I never saw my father home from work late or ill, nor did I ever see my father take a "night out with the boys". He had no bobbies but just took care of his family. For 22 years, since I left home for college, my father called me every Sunday at 9:00 am. He was always interested in my life-how my family was doing. The calls even came when he and my mother were in Australia, England or Florida. Nine years ago when I bought me first house, my father, 67 years old, spent eight hours a day for three days, painting my house. He would not allow me to pay someone to have it done. All he asked, was a glass of iced tea, and that I hold a paintbrush for him and talk to him. But I was too busy, for I had a law practice to run, and I could not take the time to hold the paintbrush, or talk to my father. Five years ago, my 71-year-old father spent five hours putting together a swing set for my daughter. Again, all he asked was that I get him a glass of iced tea, and talk to him, But again, I had laundry to do, and the house to clean. The morning on Sunday, January 16, 1995, my father telephoned me as usual, this time he had seemed to have forgotten some things we had discussed the week before. I had to get to church, and I cut the conversation short. The call came at 4:40 am. That day my father was sent to hospital in Florida. I got on a plane immediately, and I vowed that when I arrived, I would make up for the lost time, and have a nice long talk with him ad really _ . I arrived in Florida at 1:00 am, but my father had passed away at 9:12 pm. This time it was he who did not have time to talk, or time to wait for me. In the years since his death I have learnt much about my father, and even more about every single day. When her father painted her first house, the daughter  _  .
could only afford a glass of iced tea was too busy to talk to her father could do nothing but hold a paintbrush spent eight hours a day working with her father