My dad was born on July 12th, 1947 in Arkansas. He moved to Seattle a bit after he was born, and he grew up there since the early 1950’s. Apart from some time in the merchant marines he spent almost all of his life there.
|Dad and me at the beach - when I was in high school|
He struggled with diabetes and liver cancer for the last couple of years of his life. I was away at college so I wasn’t there when he died – but I remember getting the call from my mom while I was in rehearsals for Martin Luther King Night at SCU. If I couldn’t be home when it happened, a part of me is glad that I was there instead.
It was a rare moment to hear him think out loud like that because, like I said, he didn’t talk much, and when he did it wasn’t usually in big-picture truths like that. I think that’s why it stuck with me so much. I can still hear him saying those words when I’m trying to fix something, or trying to make something work the way I want it to but it won't. Sometimes, you just have to make do.
If he were still here, I would tell him that I love him, and I know he deserved more than what he got. I still try to tell my friends about him, and what my life was like when he was still here, to show that he is still a part of my story.
Happy Father’s Day to all!