father's day

Father's Day.

The more books I read, the shows I watch, the programs I listen to, the people I meet and hear the father accounts, I want to blurt out my story. But my background tells me that would be bragging - although I had not the slightest thing to do with being my father's daughter.

As I think of my childhood, Dad is always there, physically, spiritually, morally, socially - name the way. He was our rock, our staying point, our refuge, our background color, our protector, our benefactor. I scratch the years for faults and of course there were short-comings of day-to-day living - sometimes being late for something, sometimes taking too much time for someone else, but you see what I mean-its really vague. He did have expectations of behavior and beliefs, but they were so in line with all our friends, neighbors, church members, relatives that they didn't seem onerous.

He was quiet, gentle, long-suffering, charitable, forgiving, but never dull. He had an adventurous spirit that pushed him from the earliest days to travel. He would get "wild ideas" according to my home-loving mother, and after much persuasion, she'd relent and join him on the open road.

I don't know what he would have accomplished with formal education because he had his own business at the end of his teens and when at last he retired in his sixties, he took a realtor exam and sold houses at his leisure. He was never wealthy, but always comfortable and shared his bounty with us, the neighbors, the extended family, the world.

And when he died suddenly at 71 we knew that our mother thought that until that day she had been the luckiest woman in the world. Ditto his children.

So, on this Father's Day, I don't want to brag, but I walked with one of the great ones - for 38 years.

And I cherish each in his presence and in his memory.