Dad's Clippers

When I was about this age, I remember going to church at the old Calvary Baptist Church in Pampa, TX.  The reason I remember I was about this age is because I remember going to the nursery-and couldn't even see over the Dutch door--and would ask the nursery ladies to give me my baby brother.  It never worked.  Anyway...the pews in that church were old wooden pews--which made a lot of racket when a little girl was unloading her purse on them.  I'd get bored with what was going on and spread out on the pew and check what I'd brought that morning in my purse (which always included my offering envelope).  In dad's effort to quiet me, he'd motion to me and offer me his fingernail clippers he carried in his pocket.  I'd get so excited!  I'd scoot down that long pew and take dad's clippers and begin clipping his nails.  I'm laughing my head off even as I type that.  Who does that???  My dad.  I'd clip a nail or two and then get a little overanxious and clip too close.  Dad would mouth, "Owwww!!"  because he couldn't actually scream that out during the sermon.  I'd be a little more careful, but dad would silently yelp a couple more times before it was over.  But my dad was so funny (and I already knew that by this age) so I wasn't sure if he was playing with me and keeping me entertained, or if I actually hurt him.  After all the clipping was done, I'd hand him the clippers and he would unsheathe the fingernail file for me.  And I'd proceed to clean under his fingernails.  This elicited more silent yelps which were actually from pain because dad would quickly pull his hand away from me.  Dad & I had a good thing going.  Dad got his weekly nail clipping, neither one of us were ever bored...and I grew up loving church.