Memories of my Father

I have always thought at some point I would write about how lucky I was as a child and about my parents. This week flying over the town my dad was born in brought him to mind.

I was a very lucky child to be born to my parents. I have never doubted that I was loved or that I was the number one thing in their lives. Both my parents were supportive and encouraged me all the time. My mom still does to this day. When you have a cheering squad behind you it does wonders for you.

I was so fortunate that my parents never got divorced. I never really considered it until my father passed away. I remember realizing that I was the only grandchild at my father’s funeral that had not lived through a divorce.

My dad moved us around the country following work and doing all he could to make our lives better. He would take me to work with him in the summers, and even worked me as I entered my teens so I could have my own money.

Through the years he took me and the neighbor’s boys fishing nearly every weekend through my teens. He let me drive the van (or let me think I was driving) while sitting in his lap when I was 5-6 years old. He taught me how to drive a tractor, ride a mini-bike, and shoot BB guns. He was a very good father, and many children envied what I had.

Even as an adult after I was no longer living at home he was still teaching me life lessons. After he had his heart attack he changed, he mellowed. He was much more appreciative of life and we had many great conversations. During his last few years he got the itch to learn how to use computers. He actually got to get on the internet and send me e-mails the last few years of his life. I wish he could see the internet now, I can only imagine how much time he’d be on that computer.

I miss him dearly and wish I would have had more than the 33 years I had with him. Even 12 years after his death I still dream about him and remember good times. I know we must have had some bad times, but I can’t say I remember any of them. I’m sure he’d be glad to know that.

I appreciate everything my dad did for me. I know he sacrificed for me and as an adult I can appreciate more now than ever just how hard he worked.

My father went in the Army at the end of WWII. He was certainly not old enough to go to war. I will include a picture of him and you tell me if you would have wanted to see your child go to war at this age.