Stories

    My Papa, my Da's dad, would sit and tell us stories all the time as kids, while siting on the porch of his house he built or  headed to the sticks in his old truck, driving down dirt paved roads with no names, to the farm. The tales he told didn't always make sense, or Line up correctly, at least not yet anyways.  Sometimes it didn't make any sense till you got older, but the story made an impact because you remembered it, either good or bad, even if you liked it or not. My Da and Ma did the same thing, telling  stories you never forget and it growing with you. I think that's one of the great qualities of being a great story teller, being able to plant a seed and having it grow. Well, I think it's my turn to have at it!