Childhood Memories of My Father

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As I prayed in the dimly lit church, the swirling smoke arising from incense took my mind back to my childhood years. The golden rays from the sun during the sunset hour did not seem as resplendent, bright, and cheerful as they usually were. The warm late afternoon air got cooler with the soft winds. The cool tropical breezes always brought healing and yielded a new desire to live despite all the problems. Sundown was on its way and summoning many birds to their lovely nests. At the corner our backyard, my father was making a multi-colored paper and bamboo kite for me. He said, "Stay here and watch me make your kite fly high." One upright hand held the kite over his shoulder. The other hand was close to his abdomen and clutched the ball of string drawing the kite as he ran slowly on the carpet of grass. The paper kite vibrated and rattled in the wind when my father coax ed it to take off higher from its own impetus. It seemed like a bird that never learned how to fly and looked fearful. Finally, the kite said bye to the ground and flew up pulling the string taut. I really admired ...

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