Honoring James: Or As I Like to Call Him, Dad
Twenty years ago this week my father passed away. For 20 years I have continued to mourn and struggle with a story that questioned my right to call him “Dad.” Last night I decided it was time to put all of that to rest. What follows is my tribute to him as a person and a father; a man that meant and still means a lot to me. My father was not a powerful man, yet he was not without distinction. He served his country for 24 years, fought in two wars, visited 119 countries, and received a long list of citations to reflect his honorable service. He produced seven children from three marriages, maybe not perfectly, but maybe without any regrets. He was smart, witty, and a little bit funny, though you would rarely hear him laugh out loud (it was mostly a smirk on his face, with blue eyes dancing around). He could argue a “blue” streak about politics (I only knew of him voting “red” but he still had a lot of “blue” ideas), but deep down inside of him ...