1988
Father's Day
Spring arrived moving into summer, Anne finished senior year of high school, Julie was working on her bachelor’s at UCF, and I was working at Paravant. Come Father’s day Anne got me a card, always somewhat of an awkward thing for I was her stepfather and not her “blood” father as she would call him, but she always got me a “Father’s Day” card, usually with the card saying “Dad” instead of “Father”. Sometime in the year past she had received a letter from her real father who she hadn’t seen since Julie and Anne moved to Florida. Her father had contacted Julie and asked if he could come by and see Anne, Julie didn’t object and said it was up to Anne who said it was okay, and I didn’t have any problem with it. Just before Father’s day he and his new wife stopped by and spent an hour or so visiting. Julie met him at the door and showed him in and introduced him to me. It was a little awkward, I shook his hand and then retreated to my study while they sat in the living room. The single thing I remember most about the visit was how much Anne looked like him. Anne did not look anything like her mother, and often when people met the three of us the remarked how much she looked like me but from that visit I knew it was her father who she who resembled the most.
Well anyway, I was in a Father’s day mood this Father’s Day and decided to write a personal Father’s day card to Dad, something I had never done before nor since. On Father's Day he called me, something he seldom did as it was usually Mom who called. If wasn’t for being Father’s Day I would have thought that something bad had happened but upon answering the phone he says, “Happy Father’s Day” and then in a choked-up voice like he had tears in his eyes he says, “I remember to son.” Dad was never much of a talker and I said something like, “Those were good times.”, and he said, “Yes they were.”, before I could say anything else Dad says, “Here, let me let you talk to Mom.”, and he passes the phone to Mom who says her hello and asks how I’m doing and then asks, “Why don’t you write me a poem like that for Mother’s day?” What was I to say to that other than, “Maybe next year.”
After Dad died, my brother and I were going through a box of cards and letters that Mom had saved and found my original card above. Dad wrote June 1988 at the bottom.
About the things I remembered
Fishing at Plantation Lake May 1959
Swimming at the Ranchette 1968
Updated: 10-11-2023
Willy