Dad just worked. He worked hard. He left early before I got up and came home at dinner time.
One of his great joys was certainly baseball and he coached, managed and sponsored baseball teams for all three of his sons and many of my friends today had a chance to play for Dad. My friend for 58 years, Eddie Stout, often tells a story of Dad's care and concern for the kids on the baseball team.
As I mentioned earlier, Dad was always loving but never emotional "touchy" loving. I guess it was the times or maybe how he grew up.
There was one exception.
When I was at the University of Oklahoma, I invited Dad to come to the annual Father's Day weekend. He couldn't have been prouder.
Most of my fraternity brothers were all from the Southwest, either Texas or Oklahoma, and here my "Yankee" Dad shows up from Dayton, Ohio. But Dad had that infectious personality that immediately bridged the Mason-Dixon line and Dad was welcomed by all. He was made an honorary "Okie" and wore the little lapel pin that was given to him proclaiming his new title.
He beamed with pride all weekend and I felt a pride that I never knew I had for him as he blended in so well. When he left to fly back to Dayton, we hugged and maybe for the first time we said, "I Love You" to each other. We had never said that before.
The next year, he returned for Father's Day. He was excited. He wore his Okie Pin and immediately began renewing friendships with the fathers he had met the previous year.
But this year would be different.
I had decided to work as a "houseboy" at the fraternity house my sophomore year to help offset the cost my parents spent for me to go to college. Neither my Dad nor Mom knew I was doing it.
When it came time to have dinner at the house on Friday night, I told Dad that I had to work and help serve meals. He didn't understand. I told him it was okay and I was just trying to help pay my way and several of us were working and their Dads were here for the weekend as well.
His eyes teared up and he felt so sad that I had to work for a few hours that evening....but always the proudest and kindest man...and as my fraternity brothers and their Dad's filed into the dining hall, here was my Dad, sleeves rolled up, an apron on, and he and his son, his proud son, served the meals together.
After we finished for the evening and joined the rest of the group. We did the handshake and a slight hug. When he left at the end of the weekend. He simply said, "I'm proud of you and love you". I think it was his happiest moment with me and probably now just the second time we had said that.
I wish I could tell him now that simple simple phrase of..... "I love You, Dad".
