Dad.

I was told by my Dad that I could always address him as Dad.  Father was too formal and Pop is carbonated and you drink it.

My Dad, who is currently 85, is my hero.  I was always in awe of his presence.  In his prime, he looked just like Harrison Ford.  In fact, when I went to see Patriot Games in the theater, I could have sworn my Dad was on the screen.  They both have a way of contorting their mouth in a tight-lipped expression of barely repressed emotion.

What I’ve always found fascinating about my Dad was his ability to communicate, both in written and oral forms.  He was commanding and since I had the pleasure of working with him for a number of years, I saw firsthand his ability to speak with each fellow employee with both respect and expectation.  He was also the consummate writer, which is where I got that genetic gift, I believe.  Once out of the Army Air Corps after WWII, my Dad majored in journalism at the University of Illinois in Urbana-Champaign.  Instead of pursuing a writing career, however, my Dad was also a whiz with numbers and became an accountant instead.  (In this case, none of that skill was passed on to me, because I was a dismal failure with math).

While my Dad was in the service, he earned the nickname Buzz, which I always thought was so cool.  Every adult I came into contact with as I was growing up always called my Dad – Buzz, unless it was a work, then it was Bob.  There’s a long story that goes with Buzz, but suffice it to say that it has to do with low-flying B-29 bombers.

My Dad was also an incredible story-teller, entertaining my sister and I almost every night over dinner.  He had a real gift for timing and a wonderful sense of humor.  My Mother usually commented that every time my Dad told another tale, it was new to her.

One more trait that had a profound impact on me was my Dad’s ability to show and express emotion.  It was rare back then, I think, for men to show that side of their personality, but my Dad never shied away from a good cry, especially after certain movies.  I never got any lectures about it wasn’t manly to cry.

Now my Dad wasn’t perfect, of course, and he made mistakes, but he was never above apologizing either.  We were very close, but I never got to see him as often as I wanted, because he traveled a lot during my teens.  Still, as a role-model, friend, and mentor, my Dad was first-rate.

He struggles now with poor health and is frail, which is very difficult to witness.  Yet his impact on my life and his words of quiet council and wisdom still echo in my brain on a regular occasion.  I am most fortunate to have grown up with his influence.  Besides, he loves reading my books and is an outspoken fan.  Even when I struggle with my chosen career, my Dad is always rooting from my side.

So on this Father’s Day, while I can’t be with my Dad, my thoughts are warm and fond and full of pride.  I strive to be as supporting, caring, and loving with my son.

I love you, DAD.