Dear Old Dad

Back in 1955, as a sophomore my father was the starting center for his high school basketball team: The Sugar-Salem Beetdiggers. Naturally long arms, big hands, tall and quick he was a formidable foe for the opposing teams in his league. Naturally quiet as a teen he led by example.

Throughout his life he continued to be a leader by example. He was a doer, a hard worker yet very gentle. His humor was legendary. As was his dashing good looks.

Six years ago Dad died in his sleep. We were so grateful the way he went. As a master of building crazy high scaffolding to do his work, we worried constantly that he would fall. Not to be. After a week of being really sick he quietly asked me about some songs his Mother used to sing to him as a boy and if I could compile them for him to listen to. I compiled it and gave it to him. Days later he passed. I suspect his sweet Mom, Carma (who had passed 30 years prior) was with him the week before his own passing.

Now, I'm left with a reverse memory. As I look at my oldest son Brent (named after his father and grandfather) I see a young man very similar to the one that played for Sugar-Salem high school all those years ago.