I remember the pinewood derby we carved. It was light in the front and kept flipping, but had the potential to be a winner.
I remember the train around the christmas tree, where you would put a cigarette in the top to make the smoke.
I remember deer spotting on a hot summer’s night with the family.
I remember, in the height of the UFO craze, piling all the kids into the car and following the strange lights in the sky - all the way to the airport.
I remember cold winter nights working on my beat-up old car so that I could get to work the next day.
I remember cold beer when I came home from college.
I remember so many things about my father, who lost his struggle with emphazema just after 11:00 AM December 3rd 2003 and is now at peace. Rest easily now Dad, you’ve earned it.
I’m sorry for your loss Khadaji. Sounds like he was a real regular guy. May we all learn from good parents what’s important in life and how to make time for our kids in like fashion.
I remember walking home from Sunday meeting playing Ghost, just the two of us.
I remember going to see “The Russians Are Coming, The Russians Are Coming.”
I remember, when I was quite a wee twickster, playing catch in the park near our house and he’d pretend to throw the ball with one of us but actually throwing it to another – I thought that was just ridiculously cool.
I remember him wearing a pair of clip-on (green) shades to a St. Patrick’s party and having everyone ask him if he had an eye infection. I definitely inherited his sense of humor.
LOL. Dad loved his bad jokes too. And the same ones over and over. I used to say that when a child is born, they turn to the father and say “Its a <insert gender>! Here’s your 10 jokes.”
I remember my Dad’s bad jokes too. Friends, girl-friends - he’d bring on his comedic stylings. You gotta laugh with your old man when he’s laughing at his own jokes. All my friends liked him.
I remember dancing in the middle of the local BBQ restaurant while waiting on our order.
I remember in elementary school, getting to sit in the back and eat a MCD’s Happy Meal at lunch and I was the coolest kid.
I remember getting a real fur coat when I was 6 just because I wanted it and I looked pretty in it.
I remember his joy at his first grandchild.
My dad died March 19, 1998 of a possible heart attack. (mom doesn’t believe in autopsys.)
Always remember the good times. And my dad liked his bad jokes and songs too. There’s a hole in the bottom of the sea, there’s a hole in the bottom of the sea!
My condolences to all of you that have lost your fathers. Although my father is still alive, I have come close to losing him several times over the past ten years. Once to a brain aneurysm, once to a heart attack, and the most recent due to complications during a routine angioplasty. Each time, it gets harder to deal with, but we thank God every time he gets to come home. I will miss him greatly when he is gone. These are some of the things I will always remember about him:
Sitting on his lap and letting him brush my hair.
His silly jokes he learned from a trip he and my mother made to Ireland a few years back.
The way he worked his fingers to the bones just to give his children everything we needed.
The look on his face when he sees me after a few months of being away from each other.
His laugh.
His stubborness.
His love for his children, granchildren, and great grandchildren.
I remember the bad puns and made-up words . . . anything to get you to roll your eyes.
I remember the “threat” to run away from home to Alaska in a white pick-up with a black dog. We didn’t have a white pick-up or a black dog. He was quite specific about this, 'specially when we were working on his one last good nerve.
I remember the 20 dollar bills tucked in odd places when I got back from visits.
I remember the smell of his shirts and the goofy grin that lit up the house.
Dad died from complications from surgery and cancer, June 28, 1997.
I remember a lot of stuff about mom too, gone on Jan. 29, 1996. But I can’t write about that 'cause it still breaks my heart.
My Dad died January 1st, 1984; about four months before my son was born.
I remember going fishing with him. I never really liked fishing, but I treasured those hours we spent together.
He was far from perfect. In fact, in some ways he was a perfect example of how not to be. He knew his strengths and weaknesses…and made sure that his kids knew theirs too.
I can only hope that I’m half as good at being a Dad as he was.
Khadaji, I’m so very sorry for your loss. My dad also died of emphysema in August of 2002, and for him, death was a blessing.
Celebrate his life as you mourn your loss. No matter your theological beliefs, you can take comfort in the fact he’ll never again have to struggle for his next breath. He’s at peace.
What wonderful memories! Thanks for sharing them with me, please continue.
And thanks too, to all who have offered condolances. It is indeed a sadness, but as Ruby has pointed out, it was so painful to watch him struggle to draw breath. I do believe that he has found peace.
I remember the first pony riding it from the kitchen to the living room.
I remember hauling coal in the red and yellow coal truck.
I remember making asphalt and measuring driveways.
I remember wrestling in the living room.
I remember learning to drive the asphalt roller.
I remember holding hands and walking the railroad tracks.
I remember when he didn’t know me.
My Dad lost his battle to Alzheimers January 13, 2002.
I was holding his left hand and Mom holding his right hand.
Dad is not here but lives on in each of us.
… my height being measured and marked off on one particular support column in the basement every year or so.
… play wrestling in our living room.
… being taken to the hospital when I broke my arm. Dad never once took his arm from around me the entire trip.
… icefishing.
… the incredible feeling of comfort I felt from dad when I failed my student teaching.
… showing him each of his grandchildren.
We are still making our memories. My dad thankfully is still alive and going strong. Your post and those who also posted here, reminded me how life is a precious thing to be lived. Live like every day is your last.
I remember all of the army stories from WWII my dad told me. Some would make him laugh, and some would make him cry.
I remember him being so proud of me the day I left to go into the Air Force. Years later, my mom told me how sad he was that day.
I remember him teaching me to be honest, and never to judge people by their skin colors.
I remember how much he loved my mom.
He died of a heart attack on August 25, 1993. I was the one who performed CPR on him, and of all the things I tried to do right for him, I wanted this the most. He didn’t make it.
But I could imagine him saying, “You did good, son. You really tried.”
