Dear Dad

Dear Dad:

Thoughts of you are triggered every year on Father's Day, for sure.

There's much that comes to mind:

You walked so fast - and, I learned to do that also! - that Pat and I were the last of our string
of nine of us filing along Van Dyke from Lynch Road in Detroit as we headed to Saint Thomas Church further south in Motown.

We had our own procession in this ritual we observed daily, if not weekly. The two-mile trek provided time for us to converse even if we were tired and ready to sit when we arrived at church or school.

We were lucky to get twenty-five cents for bus fare to get to school each day, but, that was rare, and exercise was the aim, I'm sure.

I recall you catching some sleep after your day job at the Budd Company while your midnight shift approached quickly each day.

You were there each day for us. You providd shelter, food, clothing and attention with dear mom whoalso worked part time away from home to make ends meet.

Like all of us, you had your issues, and seven children was big enough a chore for you and mom.

Yet, you made sure values and virtues were taught.

You led by example.

Prayer was essential with participation at church.

You supported us and the paths we selected for life's work.

Evenings together before television come to mind. As you rested from work, getting ready for the next job, mom sewed socks as we finished chores of homework.

I remember you driving us to the City Airport on French Road where we parked as watched planes land.

Friday mornings were a treat for us when you bought fresh doughnuts for us before we headed to school. The aroma was enough to gobble up the fuel to get through the day at school.

I remember going to get you from the local bar where you stopped often for a drink or more.

Your own mom died early in your life when you were six months old. Your dad remarried, and,
I recall the abusiveness you experienced then. Yet, when your mom died I was asked to preside at the funeral.

"Everyone has their story," I said, as we gve her back to God.

She did. You did. We all do.

Story is all we have.

Stories are all we remember also.