My Dad’s Stories

Dad's hands

My Dad tells stories.  He has stories that date from yesterday back through 1930 (although the stories from 1930-40 tend to be a bit nebulous, as you would expect since he was ‘just a wee lad’ at the time). I love to hear his stories….

…about his favorite Christmas present as a child (an air rifle that could shoot corks), and playing stick-ball on the streets of New York…

…about courting my Mum, the church dances they went to, the ‘egg creams’ they drank, the nuns that taught them right from wrong…

…about his career, the co-workers he enjoyed, others he did not, places he traveled to, successes and disappointments…

I love hearing his stories.  Each time he tells one, I learn something new. I learn who my Dad was and how he became who he is today. I learn what was important enough to remember (and, by omission, what was unimportant enough to forget). I learn, by the way his eyes shine as he recalls his ‘stories’, the importance he placed/places on honesty, honor, and character.

I never want to stop learning. I am well past my ‘college days’, but I believe I learn more each day today than I did back then. I learn from my ‘adult education’ courses, from books, from lots of really cool websites, and from the media. I learn from watching the birds interact, the neighbors walk by, the clouds grow in the sky. I want to listen to every song, every chirp, every whisper, every drip, every rustle and learn something new with each sound.

I think I learn the most important stuff by listening to my Dad’s stories. …where I came from, how my values formed, how to live a life that has meaning and is filled with love.

Thank you, Dad.