Tomorrow is Father's Day. I will honor my father whose love and example had a tremendous effect in framing who I am today: David Paul Garlock, Sr. Since I have been using my blog to give insight into the lives of Edward H. and Jessie May Garlock, (my paternal grandparents)--I continue with a look into a day in their lives that would strike terror into the heart of any parent.
It was a warm summer day. Edward and the older children were all in the hay field. Esther's skirt was full of eggs she had gathered in the hen house. Marian, her Papa's errand girl, had come to the house to get lunch for the workers.
Jessie stepped out the kitchen door with three-year-old David trailing at her heels. Spotting her daughter, Marian as she entered the yard, she requested:
"Marian, would you keep an eye on David? I'm putting together the lunch for Papa and the others. He's getting under foot and I'm afraid I'll trip over him.
The sound of snorting and whinneying reminded Jessie to add: "Don't let him anywhere near that wild stallion your father just brought home. He looks like a killer."
Disappearing into her kitchen, Jessie returned with a basket: "Oh, and Marian, give this basket to your sister. She's gathering eggs without one. Her skirt will be full and she'll lose them all."
David entertained himself, playing with a stick in the dirt while Marian kept occupied with a yellow striped kitten in her lap. Daydreaming, like most teenage girls do, she didn't see her brother slip under the fence where the excited horse paced, tossing his head from side-to-side.
David's screams pierced the air pulling Marian from her thoughts. To her horror she saw the massive horse raring in the air, ready to come down on her baby brother. Rushing, she reached under the lowest bar of the enclosure and pulled him to safety just as the horse's hooves pounded the hard earth where David had fallen.
As she picked him up she saw his left leg hanging grotesquely with his shin bone puncturing through the skin, crossing in a forked fashion. His foot dangled limply with his toe turned around where his heel should be and his heel where his toe should point.
David's loud cries brought Jessie from the house. She immediately took her son and cradled him in her arms trying to support his leg-- as he convulsed in pain.
"Run, get Papa." She directed Marian. "He may want to send Henry for the doctor."
What followed next can only be described as miraculous. You may read about it in "Generations"--to be released this August. Little David was my father. I honor him this Father's Day Weekend--and hope and pray my life honors him each and every day as I follow a walk of faith, as he did.
The attached photo is a picture of him at the approximate age of three--praying at his mother's knee.
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