Living History

So this post doesn’t really have anything to do with writing.  And it’s not YA.  It’s a post to celebrate my father’s life:  he is 90 years old today (Yes, you read that right.  He had me late).

To me, he’s the man who tucked me in at night when I was little and sang me to sleep, his voice crackling on the chorus of “Massa Dear”.  He’s the one who entertained my best friend and I by writing our names backwards on fancy paper name tags. He’s the one taught me a real man is gentle with children, respectful to his wife and isn’t afraid to unplug a blocked toilet.

But he’s also living history:  A young boy who learned to love lard sandwiches during the Great Depression.  An artistic airplane mechanic in WWII who painted the naked woman onto the 84th bomb group’s B-24 bomber.  A father of six who managed to give his kids a happy childhood on a Parks & Rec department salary.  A man whose life has spanned nearly a century. 

There is so much I do not know about my dad’s past.  So much that I never bothered to ask because he was just “Dad”; I guess I never saw him as his own person.  But I won’t let another year go by without finding out who he was, really, before I came along.   There are stories there to be told, to be understood, to be cherished.

What are some memories that should not be forgotten?

Love you, Dad.  Happy Birthday.