It has been eight years since Dad left this world, and there are days, like today, when it seems it will never get easier.
Of course, Dad lives in his children and our children.
If there were ever a man who loved being a grandfather, it was him. He used to entice my daughter Whitney to visit by fixing her croquettes, and he made sure his recipe was passed on.
Dad was not a warm, touchy-feely father. He was a great provider and role model with his honesty and work ethic.
Years later in Robert Lewis' Men's Fraternity, it was learned that most men from Dad's era were like that. They came home from the war, got married and went to work.
If the house needed painting, that's the way his vacation was spent. Although we once took an extended vacation -- almost two weeks -- to drive to California to visit Dad's brothers in San Diego and Los Angeles and then up to the Bay Area to visit Mom's sisters.
The "new" 5-year-old car Dad bought broke down three times on the way out there. Oh, and this was 1962, when the only air conditioning in most cars was rolling down the windows.
There were five of us in that car, and on the way home Dad decided we would sleep a few hours at night in the car to save money. Maybe it was because on the way out he splurged one night and we stayed in a motel with a swimming pool.
The last night on the road we woke as the sun broke, and Dad quickly started the car and took off, leaving behind the sign that read: Leavenworth Prison. Do Not Park. Do Not Pick Up Hitchhikers.
Dad always insisted that his youngest son work, and my first job was throwing the Arkansas Democrat -- later it was the Arkansas Gazette -- and while it was never fun, Dad would get up early on Sundays and help throw the larger papers.
There was one morning he forgot to set the parking brake, and after I yelled he took off in a sprint. It was the only time I ever saw my dad run. He was pretty fast, too. Or at least he was that morning.
Dad never talked about his time in the Navy. Like many young men of that era, he lied about his age, and at 16 (1942 in the middle of War War II) he was a gunner on a boat in the Pacific Ocean.
His oldest brother Jack, a Navy veteran, revealed that when Dad was in boot camp they had two lines, one for those who couldn't swim and one for those who could. If you couldn't swim, you had to find a way to get to a platform 100 yards out in the water. If you could swim, it was 25 yards.
Dad couldn't swim, but he knew the difference in 100 yards and 25 yards.
A few months after Dad's boat was attacked, he received a call to the commander's office and was confronted about his age. A couple of days later, he was on his way home with an honorable discharge.
Seems his mom, who was legally blind (unless you stepped in her flower bed), had been having her own war with the military services trying to find her youngest son.
Most of my Dad's life he tried to find and have a relationship with his oldest son, who died shortly after Dad did. Larry had an ocean of hurt, but they finally met face to face and it went OK.
Larry and I talked, and he had felt some jealousy for a long time. He mentioned that Dad didn't talk much, and I said that had always been the case. The conversation led to Larry not being named after my dad, I was, and I asked him, "Would you really have liked to have the name Carlee?"
He quickly replied that at least neither of us got stuck with my dad's middle name, Columbus.
This is a special day. Make memories if you can.
Sports on 06/21/2015