On This Day In 1918

Happy birthday Dad.

Though gone more than 15 years, my Dad often feels nearby. This past weekend a good friend described a painful childhood memory involving the casual cruelty of a parent. As sadness for my friend washed over me, childhood incidents involving my Dad came to mind. Gratitude soon supplanted my sadness.

Dad was a talented carpenter. And though I tried, even as a grade schooler, I knew my woodshop projects were pathetic. My father routinely hung up these travesties like fine art. Years later, I used this memory when teaching modules about building self-esteem in children. This past weekend listening to my friend, for perhaps the first time, something else occurred to me.

My Dad gave me another gift by treating my work with respect. In effect, he was saying "I honor your creative voice, Patrick." Although his formal education was limited, my Dad was a smart man. I miss him.