Father’s Day – 2006

Dear Dad,

This is our first Father’s Day without you. It will seem strange this year not to hear your voice on the phone when I call. Still I know that, after all is said and done, that you’re in a better place now, free from suffering and worry.

There are so many things I could think to say right now. For instance, the other day I found myself wanting to play a game of chess with you. I know we hadn’t played a game in years, but I found myself wanting one more game with you. I’ll have the rest of my life to have that thought, but it’s one wish that will go unfulfilled.

I’ve had a chance over the last few months to remember so many different times we shared together. The good times bring a smile to my face. The bad times – memories of anger and sadness between us – haunt me now and again.

One of the good times was when you took me to Phillies game years ago. I know I thanked you several times over the years for taking me, but I don’t know if I ever told you that I realized how much it meant to you. I mean, you didn’t even like professional sports, but you knew I loved baseball. So you sacrificed an evening at home to take me to my first ballgame. I’ve come to appreciate what it was you did: you came home from cutting meat at the Acme, probably exhausted already, picked me for the drive into North Philadelphia, and together we watched the game. I recall now that it was along the third base side at Connie Mack Stadium, and that the Mets won, 3-0. It wasn’t until recently that I realized the sacrifice you made when I come home from work, very tired and not wanting to do anything but relax. Keep in mind I do not have a job that is as physically demanding as yours was, and instead of children I have cats who, like you, could care less about professional baseball.

I know we can’t share this memory ever again, but I hope these thoughts reach you somehow.

This year we will think about you and all the things you did to show your love for us. Don and I may save some money on a gift this year, but it still won’t be quite the same.

Maybe one of us will do something stupid, just to make you laugh. Maybe one of us will track down the elusive oyster stew and eat it in your honor. Most of all we’ll remember your words, your actions, and think loving thoughts no matter where we are or what we do.

Love,

Your son