Aw, Daddy

I was 31 years old the first time I learned God doesn't always give us do-over's.

Since, Father's Day is usually something I ignore.  Or endure.

ca. 1963

As a young woman I was a big disappointment to my folks -- particularly my father.  Once he (correctly) prophesied, "One day you'll cry bitter tears."

Still.  He never let disappointments get in the way of his zest for life.   You know, passion is a curious term.  I'm not sure I've ever experienced it.  But daddy did.

He was passionate about ...

… good food (no healthy alternatives, please!)

… travel

… fine suits and shoes

… hats
… a good cigar

… and his only grand child

Some may wonder how a government security guard and his wife could afford their world-wide excursions.

Back Gate, today

The short answer, he (they) worked 3 jobs 90% of the year.  No movies or bowling, no Tupperware parties.  Aside from Sunday lunches at Furr's Cafeteria, the only time they went out to eat was on vacation -- and could indulge in pleasures such as real butter or real ice cream.

And grits!  I think the highlight of my father's summer road trips wasn't seeing his brother in Florida, but getting to Mississippi where they served grits.  (In the 50's, such a thing couldn't be found outside the Deep South.)


Something else.  Usually the one behind the camera -- isn't there one in every family?  -- Dad loved having his picture taken.

Jordan

Athens

Manila

My dad loved poking fun at himself.  Since he's no longer around, I'll do my best to relate a couple:

While attending a ballet in Moscow, Daddy was delighted to discover none other than Robert Goulet seated in the row before theirs.  Rather than be so gauche as to ask for an autograph or photo, Dad pretended to take a photo of my mom with RG in the background.  Except.  Just as he set up the picture, the house lights came down, the curtain came up -- and Goulet turned with a grin and said, "Tough luck!"

Another.
Long before Rancho Encantado became a hoity-toity resort, it was one of my folks favorite spots to enjoy a French Dip sandwich.  But the first time they took that drive up through Santa Fe's foothills was one for the record books.

Arriving at the restaurant, they found the parking lot full of high-end automobiles.  Then, the presence of a well-dressed host just inside the door.  "And you are?" he inquired pleasantly.  Mother and Dad were ushered to a larger room where people were milling about with drinks and hors d'oeuvres.  "And this is Ad and Evelyn Willer, visiting from Los Alamos."  My mother nearly fainted when she came face to face with Jimmy Stewart and his wife.  The upshot?  They'd inadvertently crashed a wrap party for a little-known film, The Cheyenne Social Club.
(Guess someone forgot to ask for their invitation - ha!)

* * *

I'll never understand why my dad was suddenly taken away at such a relatively young age (69).  But I'm determined not to let him be forgotten.  Isn't that the greatest gift we can give to our loved ones?

Thanks for listening.  I love y'all!

Hugs, Myra