A Memory of a Father
From him, I learned that something done simply, but done well, is better than something that looks great but didn’t serve its purpose.
Recently a friend of mine, someone I’ve known most of my 42 years on this Earth, called late one night and told me his father had unexpectedly died. I hadn’t seen his father in years, and the last few times were merely in passing, but the news floored me. Honestly, it hit harder than it had when I found out my uncle had died, and he was still in his forties.
My friend, whom I’ve seen less and less as we’ve gotten older and older, was crying. I was crying. He said the funeral was this weekend and it was late notice, so I didn’t need to come, but he felt I needed to know. We told each other we loved one another and I knew I was going home for a funeral. Not just to be there for my friend, or for his mom, the recently widowed Mrs. D, whom I was even closer too than his father.
But I was going for him. To pay my respects. Here is why:
My friend and I lived a few miles apart on the same country road. Just for perspective, we lived about a mile and a half apart and there were only two houses between us. By both common interests and lack of options, we quickly became best…