Wednesday, April 3, 2013

Memories of my Dad

I remember the story my mother told of my father returning from Germany when I was small. I had a picture of my father and that was my memory of him. When he returned he did not look like my picture and it took me several days before I realized he was my father. I was afraid of the strange man who got off the plane, with a few days growth of beard. He was not the clean shaven man in my photograph.

I look back on photographs of my father as a young soldier and see a different man than the one who died just over three years ago.  The man who died was thin and weak, yet still told me "I love you kid."

He was physically weak from the cancer that ravaged his body bit he was still the man I knew as a child.  He still had a sense of humor and enjoyed golf. He was the man who yelled at Jack Nicholson when he missed a putt, and cheered when he got a hole in one.

He still enjoyed pulling my leg and teasing me and he was still my father whom I loved dearly.  He traveled the world with the military to places like Cuba, Korea, Vietnam, the Philippines,  Taiwan, and Kinmen.

He was a great man and is sorely missed. I love him very much and know that he is watching over me from heaven.



This is a great way to explain things and how some days are for me when I over do or have too much on my plate and have to slow down. Thoug...