My dad will turn 80 this year. What a journey he's had.
Statistically, he's playing with house money now. It's given us enough time to get past the things that once held us back. I'm grateful that we talk as much as we do.
My dad is a warm guy. He loves to laugh and has enjoyed his life pretty well. At least that's how it seems. I like that. I fret over a lot of things, many of them beyond my control. That's probably detrimental. Dad always seems to be fairly upbeat. Of course there are things he doesn't like, but generally he seems like a happy person and someone who recognizes how fleeting so much of life can be.
I love you, dad.
For many years, I had another dad. I was nine the year my mom remarried. We always called my stepfather by his name, Jack. There was always a boundary.
Which wasn't really fair to him, probably, because he did a lot of "dad" things even without the official title.
Jack has been gone almost 33 years. It's hard to believe.
One of my favorite memories of Jack was from my first "real" football game when I was 16. I was playing defensive tackle on the junior varsity. The game was at the school, and there was hardly a crowd. But I saw that he was there. Two plays into the game I found myself sprung into the backfield. It was a trap play and I was messing it up for North Mesquite. The QB rushed his pitch to his right and the ball bounced off the back of his running back. I jumped on it. My illustrious career had begun, and Jack was there to see it. It meant a lot to me.
Happy Father's Day, fathers.