Two years ago in January, I had a conversation with my Dad's doctor. He advised me that Dad would not likely see the next spring. Of course, I am quite glad that he was wrong, but I wished he'd been much more wrong.  My Dad lost his dad when he was only 13 years old. So, I realize how lucky I have been to have had just shy of 50 years with mine. And looking back through my memories of those 50 years, I realize that he will continue to live on through those memories and the memories of many others who knew and loved him. I'd like to share just a few of those memories with you.
One of my earliest memories of my Dad was him taking me to swimming lessons in California and telling me that after the lesson, we were going to Disneyland. I remember how excited I was when he came walking up to the poolside after the lesson asking if I was ready to go! I thought he was pretty cool (though as I recall, I did not learn about the word "cool" until later in kindergarten.) I remember Dad working in our Garage in Long Beach, building a plywood airplane large enough for me to ride in. And when it was ready and nicely painted, I remember him attaching a rope to the front so he could pull me in it around the block. The same block where a year or two later he taught me to ride a two-wheeler. I remember him running along beside me and me feeling terrified he might let go of the seat and I'd have a terrible crash. After a while I noticed that he was swinging both hands freely as he ran along beside me and I yelled, "Why aren't you holding on?" and he just said, "Because you can ride!" I was ecstatic. And I remember an Indian Guides camping trip when I was around 7 years old. I woke up mortified when I realized I had accidentally peed the bed while sleeping in my only pair of jeans. But Dad had a plan. We snuck out of the cabin before anyone else woke up and went down to the lake with fishing poles. There we washed out the jeans in the lake but added a little mud to the cuffs and one knee. Then back at the cabin, Dad explained that we had headed down to go fishing, but came back early because I slipped on some mud and fell in the lake. Saved! Dad always loved to tease my friends. I remember many a time when my close friends Dave or Rusty (or both) would show up around dinner time and Dad would say something like, "Oh Geeze! Pat, look who's stumbled in off the streets; looks like we need to feed them." But, my friends always felt welcome (and did frequently join us for meals.) And it did not take long for Carol to experience Dad's sense of humor.  The summer before Carol and I were married, I lived at home in Portage, working as a programmer for Upjohn (guess how I managed to find a good job at Upjohn) and Carol was in Ann Arbor taking classes and working. We each made frequent trips to visit each other that summer. On one of Carol's first visits to Portage, we ended up going to the Douglas Drive-in movie theatre after dinner. We wanted to bring a couple sleeping bags in the car—you know, in case we broke down or something—so I tossed them out my bedroom window in the back of the house and picked them up on our way out. Well, the next morning, Carol and I, along with the rest of my family, were all having breakfast around the kitchen table, and Dad comes up to the table holding a sleeping bag cover. He says with a completely straight face, "Andy, I found this in the back yard right outside your bedroom window. Any ideas on how that got there?" When I said, "Hmmm, that's odd," he just agreed and sat down for breakfast.
Carol and I were married a long time before we had any kids and I'm sure my parents (and everybody else) had long accepted the idea that we never would. But I remember how happy my parents were when we told them Frankie was on the way and my Dad's tears of joy when he first held Frankie in the hospital room. I saw those same tears as he sat holding his twin granddaughters, Rita and Rose. I know, and I will always remember, that my Dad loved my kids and all his grandkids as much as he loved his own kids—which was incredibly much. And I know his love for my Mom was unwavering and true my entire life and before that. I miss my Dad, but I know I am lucky to be his son. My Dad is no longer here with us, but he lives on—in my memories, and in yours. | 
