I hope all of you guys reading this had a wonderful Father’s Day. I remember when it was special for me to remember my dad with a gift and a hug, but this marks the twelfth year that he has been gone. More than anyone else in the world he influenced my writing through encouragement and example.
My best years with my dad were the last 20 of his life after he retired and I became an adult. Finally, he wasn’t trying to make a living and could enjoy life. Certainly, I have fond memories of him from when I was a child, but he was a coach so that tells you about his late hours and Saturdays. Nonetheless, he always found time to take us on a vacation in the summer and to church on Sundays.
In his last 10 years, my dad sat down and wrote a 300-plus page autobiography, which marked a successful and interesting life. Born in 1911, he had seen a lot, and he wrote with keen memory about a great deal of it, including his experiences during World War II when he was in the Philippine Islands, very much missing my mother and two very young brothers. I am so glad I have his book, and I encourage each of you dads to do the same. He left me a great legacy in words as well as deeds, and he always, always taught me the importance of putting my thoughts on paper.
One of my most memorable fun stories of him is indirectly connected to my writing. While I was in Baylor, I had the opportunity to go to New York City and Washington D.C. on a journalism internship, which pleased Dad beyond words. He was forever putting short articles in the local paper bragging about something I had done, and although I was embarrassed at the time, I cherished his pride in me.
I think I may have mentioned in another blog that my dad was a devout Christian, Superintendent of Sunday School, a Sunday school teacher and deacon in the Baptist church, which is what makes this so funny.
While I was in NYC, I called home and told he and mother about all the wonderful experiences I was having in addition to my internship at Cosmopolitan Magazine, that included seeing HAIR and Oh, Calcutta. Unaware that most of the actors or dancers or whatever they should be called were wearing very little, if any, clothes, Daddy placed an extremely lengthy article in the paper detailing my wonderful escapades. I never had the heart or nerve to tell him “the rest of the story!”
I miss him so very much, but I have his book, which is the next best thing.