Father's Day

I call him Dad. It's been his name for the fifty years I've known him. My mom calls him Ed or Eddie.

I used to call him other names. Names said in frustration and misunderstanding. Those names stopped when I approached the age of 18 and Vietnam loomed in my future. My father had watched WWII's herald unfurl as a young man and went to war. I did not.

His life was hard, but he was fortunate in marrying my Mom, Betty. They've been wed since 1949 and still live in the same house they bought in 1951. That house will always be my home.

There are memories of my dad that I hold close to my heart: Fishing in Lake Maury, the James River and around the Bridge Tunnel, crabbing at Grandview and clearing Bill Lambkin's woods. During these times, he was my Dad and a lot more. He was a buddy.

My dad helped me understand what I needed to do in life - as a man, as a father and as a son. He did it by being himself and sharing himself. As a father, I realize this is the greatest gift a boy could ever receive from his dad.

His name is Ed. My mom calls him Eddie. I call him my Dad.

I love you, Dad. Happy Father's Day.

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