My father, Lou, age 35, in 1961, with my sister Ronnie and one-year-old me. Park Forest, Illinois.
A father's day shout-out to my father, Lou, in Plano. He's 83-year-old, and has had some health setbacks in the past few months, but his spirit is strong and he hasn't lost his sense of humor. We're headed over to take him out to dinner tomorrow. We hope to have him around for many years to come, and that my sons will have a Grandpa to visit for a while yet. It's tough to accept your parents growing old before your eyes; harder still to lose a parent. It's easy to think that they'll always be around just the way you remember them, and often, before you realise it, the chance to tell you how you feel about them is gone. I'm cynical about "non-holiday" holidays such as Father's Day and such. Sure, I guess presents and cards and lousy ties are nice to get, but what means the most are four words:
"I love you, Dad. "