![]() ![]() I remember his disappointment when I opted to drop out of college. I remember being so jealous of my older brothers who, when returning from their college semester, would stay up into the wee hours of the morning sparring political prose with one another - bonding, sharing and laughing at arguments that today would be considered ludicrous. He tried to make the quality of time make up for the quantity, but when you divide a rare Sunday afternoon between five sons and an equally busy wife, the slices aren’t very much. He attended every ball game and swim meet, every operetta or performance. Oh, he was dutiful in his responsibilities of parenthood. With four brothers and as many newspapers my dad was absent a large part of my childhood. My youngest brother didn’t even get to finish his first year of college before he had to prematurely come back to help place our father in the ground.įorty-one years later I still remember the telephone call, still remember my initial histrionics, still remember the emptiness that - no matter the time that’s passed - remains unfilled.Įvery single day that I peruse our obituaries, a little piece of me feels heartbroken knowing that no matter the age or the circumstances of the deceased there will be something hollow in the hearts of every survivor listed. My mother, who joined him eight years ago, was a widow longer than she was married. Well, not this particular day but this day, 41 years ago.įorty-one years … I’ve spent more than 65% of my life without my father. ![]()
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