My Dad

March 19 is always a special day for me.  That’s because on March 19, 1929 my father was born.

He would have been 82 today, if he had not died shortly after turning 58.  I still miss my dad.

What kind of man was he?

He was a humble man.  Quiet and unassuming, his chosen profession, speech-writer, fit him perfectly.  He was the “man behind the scenes.”  While those who delivered his speeches got the glory, it was my father, the word-smith, who crafted the lines, anecdotes and jokes.

He was an intelligent man.  There was little in the humanities field that escaped his knowledge.  And he was a walking dictionary and thesaurus.

He was a wise man.  As I pin-balled my way through life in those early years, I frequently would tell myself, “My dad was right.”  Generally this occurred after I would choose a different path, only to discover that I was in error and my dad correct once again.

He was a kind man.  His intention was never to hurt anybody else.

He was a disciplined man and a hard worker.  Until he suffered from the cancer that eventually claimed his life, I can’t recall him ever missing a day of work.  He followed his routines and did what he knew to be right.

He was a model husband and father.  He encouraged me and believed in me.  He was always there watching me play basketball in high school.

Speaking of basketball, it’s March-Madness once again.  This was my dad’s favorite.  He loved watching the college b-ball teams compete in the NCAA tourney.  (He would have been so proud of his grandson, the B-Man.)

I’ll never be the man my father was - but I certainly have a worthy role-model and legacy 

to guide me.