My father was a man of few words but of infinite love.
He loved my sister and I unconditionally. He told me once
that he would always love me just the same no matter what
I did, and I was a wild and unruly child, constantly rebelling
against authority.

He died far too early. He retired at sixty two and suffered five years from terminal cancer. He was so uncomplaining to the end and it was such a hard way to go. He always
told me that Bobby was the grandson who would make him
proud. I think he would have been justified in thinking that.

When I divorced my first husband, my father said,"I never
liked the son of a bitch anyway." No one was good enough
for either of his girls. He gave us sage advice when we
asked for it and I wish that we had heeded it more.

He was always fair and just in his decisions. He had a few
very close friends but he was not a gregarious person.
He rarely lost his temper although Joan and I fought constantly and it must have been very trying. He never
lied and in the small community where we lived, his word
was as good as a bond.

I miss him every day and especially on Father's day. His
grandchildren miss him too and would have loved for him
to have seen his great grandchildren. He was a wonder
with children. They all loved him. He left us too soon.