Father’s Day and Happy memories of a great father

My father was a construction worker, an award winning amateur photographer, fan of Picasso, and an avid stamp collector.

I don’t have a “something that I remember most” about my Dad, but instead, numerous memories kept alive by pictures, videos, and other mementos.

I have some of my Dad’s tools (actually more than I have any use for). There are times when his old metal toolbox gives off an aroma that evokes memories of helping him around the house or out on side jobs. Sometimes the aroma brings back memories of nights when he would come home from all day working in a tall building with no walls or heat, exposed to the icy winter wind that blew off of Lake Erie. I always knew it took a truly amazing father to work like that to support his family.

I have the Pinewood Derby car we built together, displayed in a place of honor in my study, next to the trophy engraved with the words, “First Place, Pinewood Derby, 1971.”

A couple of years after college I moved from Cleveland to Atlanta where I married and had children. My parents worried that my son, their first grandchild, wouldn’t know them because we lived so far away, so they made a video of themselves reading stories and sent it for my son to watch. Now that video helps us all to remember Dad.

My parents didn’t have to worry that my son wouldn’t know them. Dad, in particular, had an incredible relationship with my son. During visits they were inseparable and we have lots of videos of them playing together. My Dad loved children. Unfortunately he only got to meet my son, never my daughter who was named in his memory, never any of my sisters’ kids. I think I regret that the most.

On Mother’s Day I wrote that: “I grew up privileged. That being born into a middle class American household means I started life better off than most people on the planet. Combine this definition of wealth with two parents that remained married, were hard working and decent people that placed great importance on raising me and my two sisters. That is a better definition of “Privilege,” than the more common concept of privilege meaning rich.”

That Mother’s Day post captured much of what I feel about both of my parents; that I was privileged.

In re-reading this article, I think the tone sounds sad, but these are happy memories of a great Father. I believe that my Dad is watching over his family, knows his grandchildren, and smiles when he sees them.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad.