Dad

This was a strange Father's Day for me.  We, my two brothers, sister and I, buried our Father a little over a year ago.  We spent Fathers Day last year without him, but because the loss was so very recent, the day passed almost unnoticed.

This year is different.  As all of you who have lost Fathers you have loved know,  it's a day to spend remembering your "special" dad.  And, all good dad's are special - each in his own way. 

I remember my Dad as the guy who bought me my first BB gun, and after I had shown him I could be trusted to use it correctly, he replaced it with a shotgun and a .22 rifle.  He taught me to ride the bike he brought back from England, and showed me how to repaint it eight years later.  As I grew up he explained the rules.  If I wanted a car, I better get some sort of job.  I worked as a newspaper delivery boy for four years, saved my pay, and he helped to pick out the '56 Ford Vicky that was my very first car.

Sunday morning papers were delivered way too early in the morning, and on cold or rainy days he'd get up with me and instead of sleeping in on his day off, he'd load my papers in the car and we'd deliver them together.  Then we'd go home and he'd fix breakfast for his whole family. 

The Ford was followed by an English sports car - yeah, Lucas electronics made in hell and guaranteed to crap out in 3 days or less - and he taught me how to keep it running.  All too soon, I tired of following his rules and left the loving home he had provided.  That happens to most sons, it's how the world works.

A few years later, he morphed into a wise old friend.   He still knew the ropes, and was happy to share the knowledge.  I had grown up enough to value his love, friendship and wisdom.  Around that time, I caught myself teaching his rules to my children.  There were a few differences, but overall, his values were passed to his grand kids.   They too loved him - his lap was reserved for them during this time.

I was lucky in this life.  Lucky to have had him for my Dad, and lucky to have had him for the first sixty-five years of my life.  Most folks don't have their father that long - he didn't.  I watched him as he passed, with his whole family at his side, and again he taught me a lesson.  Success in this life is measured by the amount of love you receive from your family.

I was glad his suffering and pain had ended, he was in bad shape at the end of his days, but I really miss being able to pick up the phone and say to him "Hey, Pop - What's up?"