Dad is the kind of person who is a genuinely good man. A gentleman, knowledgeable; one with a rather impish sense of humor with those who are close to him. He has an old fashioned sense of morals that did not change in the 1960’s and 1970’s. Right is right and wrong is wrong. Being “bad” is not good; it’s just plain bad! He was 9 years old during WWII, and just missed the Korean War, but served in the army for a few years before beginning work at JC Penny’s as a retailer.
I was never a very good athlete, but dad was always there, cheering me on. He was there when I scored my only hockey goal as a 5th grader in
I used to love to watch him make plastic model airplanes. We would sit in the basement in this small long room. Fluorescent lights buzzed in the air, and all sorts of contraptions were littered about the counters in his workshop. Dremel tools, air compressors, rock tumblers, you name it. He would sit and work and talk with me. That’s good father-son stuff. He even helped me make a model of Godzilla, one that glowed in the dark. Rarrr!
Dad is one of the hardest working people I have ever known, and I admire him a lot for this. He has an incredible work ethic, something that never quite rubbed off on me. I still remember weekends as a teenager on
All these times in retrospect are like pure gold to me. Dad has always stuck by my side through thick and thin. He has always loved me completely, accepted me unhesitatingly. Thank you, Dad. I love you very much. You are my hero.