In 1965 my little bride slipped a ring on my left hand ring finger and I never removed it. Even when they said I had to remove it while I took my electrical apprenticeship, I told them if the ring has to come off----I quit. End of discussion!
Twenty-seven years I never removed that old ring. Twenty-seven years later she bought me another one. That old ring was in pretty bad shape. Twenty-seven years of working and living had worn down the fancy edges until it was less than an eighth of an inch wide and sometimes cutting my finger.
I think Miss Sandra felt sorry for me and bought me a new ring. I still didn't want to take off that old ring----but, for my bride---well, anything she wants. But, oh, the new ring was so new and pretty. I did have quite a time getting the old one off. And it was not round anymore.
My daughter came over and I showed her the old ring and told her I had never removed it until now and I wanted her to have it. My beautiful "Daddy's girl" could have it to remember her Daddy by. She slid it on her thumb. That was in 1992----18 years ago. Yesterday she was over and that old ring is still on her thumb. Couldn't help but stare at it---the history it lived through with me----and now the history it's living through with her.
"Daddy's girls." Ain't they somethin'? Yeah, they're somethin'!
September 2, 2010
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