Remembering Dad

One of my students shared with me that her dad passed away. Her voice was thick with emotion and her tears spilled over. It was hard to watch her pain. It was raw and really tragic. I consoled her, but after she left, I still felt sad, though not for her.

As this 18 year old shared her grief, my own surfaced. The grief about the loss of my own dad felt acute, as if he had died yesterday instead of seven years ago.

My dad was a quiet but brilliant man who bequeathed to me a love of reading and baseball. He read the newspaper from cover to cover every morning and at least one book a week, and the only time he was glued to the television was to watch the boys of summer with me. It was a magical time, memorable on so many levels.

While we watched the games, he would tell me the stories of the players lives and he would discuss the coaches. It was incredible that I would grow up and ultimately interview many of them when I became the Editor-in-Chief of the only family authorized collectors edition about Mickey Mantle after he died.

I dedicated that issue to my dad and was proud to give him the first copy off the press. He was elated and proud of me.

I miss his calm and sweet demeanor, his intellect and his dependability. When I close my eyes, I can see his face, his easy smile and twinkling eyes. I wish he were still here, and that summer and life was as sweet and innocent as it was then.