MEMORIES OF DAD

I couldn't let Father's Day pass without remembering my dad.

He died 40 years ago this year- January 23, 1977. So, the memories of him are starting to fade, but there are some things I will never forget.

Dad worked for over 35 years at the old Goodrich Tire plant in Oaks, Pa. He would be amazed at how things change. The plant is now a shopping center, movie theater and convention center.

I've often thought, if he could see the world as it is now, what would his reaction be? Computers, cell phones, self-drive cars, all science fiction stuff when I was growing up in the late 50s and 60s.

Even though a lot of people said I looked like my mom, I got my dad's deep dimples, his left-handedness, and his hay fever in the fall. I remember how bad he used to sneeze in autumn form the pollen and grass. Soon I would too.

Dad was soft-spoken and friendly, so I hope I inherited his personality too. He was simply a nice guy.

He worked really hard, often overtime, getting up at 5 a.m. everyday, and sometimes not getting home until after 5 p.m. He was a machinist, although he did attend Drexel University for a short time.

Since he had to provide for six kids- including a special needs child- he was working a lot, but Dad wasn't a work-a-holic. He spent time with his family. He worked hard because he had to.

He had spent time in an orphanage as a kid, so he knew hard times.He was a regular guy, a working man, a blue collar, everyday joe.

Dad endured a lifelong fight with diabetes. He didn't have to take insulin shots, but he did take pills daily, went to get his blood sugar checked monthly, and watched his diet. Back in the 60s, it was harder to find sugar-free ice cream and all the things Dad loved but couldn't eat.

He was in World War II. In fact, Dad fought bravely in the Battle of the Bulge, one of the most horrendous battles in United States military history. He earned the Purple Heart  from that battle, recuperating in England from shrapnel in his leg.

After Dad died, we couldn't find the Purple Heart to go with him to heaven. Later, by chance, Mom found it.She asked me if I wanted to keep it. I wear it proudly, in Dad's honor, today.

Poor Mom received the telegram that Dad was hurt in the war on Christmas Eve, 1944. No word where he was , how bad he was wounded or even if he was still alive. Only that he was hurt.

My Dad sacrificed so much for me and the family. I know he would come home from work and make dinner while mom spent time with me at the hospital. I know he had a heart of gold and would do anything for anybody.

Dad had his favorite living room chair, a brown lounger ,  that he liked to relax in . Dad was a big-time snorer, and most of the time he was so tired he would doze off and we would hear the thundering rattling of sleep echo through out the house.

That chair seemed so empty after he was gone. Like no one else would or could fill it. But I remember finding comfort there at times, times when I especially most needed reassurance, courage or strength.

Dad was  a smoker in his time. I remember, not all at once, he smoked cigarettes, cigars and even a pipe. One of the greatest things I ever witnessed was the time Dad wasn't feeling good and simply quit smoking cold turkey, literally tossing the pack of cigarettes in the kitchen trash can. No patches or fake cigarettes back then. He simply quit.

Sports was a bond between me and Dad. He loved most sports but really loved the Phillies.

We would sit on the floor and watch the Phillies in the summer on our  small living room black-and-white TV ( no one had color sets back then). I recall we watched Jim Bunning pitch a perfect game on Father's Day against the hated Mets. I also remember how sad we were when the Phils collapsed in '64.

Dad and I would get our Phillies tickets in February when they went on sale. No computers, no phone orders. We literally drove down to old Commie Mack Stadium, waited in line for the box office to open, and seeded our dreams for the upcoming summer. Didn't matter how cold it was, the memories of warm days to come and the hope each new basebals season brought kept us going.

I would listen to the late night West Coast games in bed with a transistor radio under my pillow. School or no school, there I was, hanging on every pitch at midnight, listening to the Phils wage war with Koufax, Drysdale or Marichal as everyone in the house slept.

When I did doze off there would be a note scotch-taped to the side of my bed-rails in the morning from Dad, simply with the final score of the Phillies game the night before.

My favorite player back then was Phillies shortstop Bobby Wine. He couldn't hit a lick but he was probably the best defensive shortstop in baseball. Ground balls died in his glove, which acted like a vacuum in sucking up every ball hit to him.

It just so happened that Wine lived in nearby Audubon. Dad knew someone who knew someone who knew Bobby Wine. Well, for one of my early birthdays dad asked Bobby Wine to call me. Iwas so happy and surprised.

My first live Phillies game was a Sunday afternoon affair against the  powerful Dodgers. I can still remember the smell of the roasted peanuts and popcorn as we entered the stadium. I remember the colors too- the lush parrot-green grass, the blue sky that sunny day, the vivid red of the Phillies' caps.

Dad carried me down the aisle to our box seats near the Phillies dugout. Again I was surprised when Dad arranged for Bobby to walk over and say hi in person before the game. I touched his famous glove. To me it was like touching Babe Ruth's bat.

Later, we attended the first ever night game vs. Pittsburgh at Veteran's Stadium. The Vet seemed so new compared to old, crumbling Connie Mack. I remember how excited Dad was to get those handicapped accessible seats at the Vet, compared to sitting behind poles or the standing crowd at Connie Mack.

I used to go up to the local bowling alley every Sunday night with Dad. He played on the Sacred Heart White Catholic League bowling team. Dad was only an average bowler but it didn't matter. The summers were long without Sunday night bowling. Bowling with Dad was something to look forward to every week and every fall.

My Uncle Franny, Dad's youngest brother, was captain of the team and a really good bowler. Dad averaged 150, Uncle Franny was around 180.

Even though I don't ever recall Sacred Heart White winning the championship, I loved rooting for the tea, often keeping score.. Three hours weekly of forgetting school or the pain of my brittle bone condition. Dad always got me a box of Bachman pretzels from the snack bar. When I couldn't make it to the alleys he brought home pretzels.

Dad got sick on New Year's Eve of 1976.I remember the ambulance coming for him on New Year's Day, . They took him form his bed and carried him downstairs on  a stretcher. That was the last time I saw Dad.He was always so strong, carrying me on his shoulders. It was sad to see him so sick now. Reality hit me hard.

It finally sunk in how much Dad loved me. He would do anything for me. He was my hero.

He died three weeks later at Graduate Hospital in the city, complications form his long struggle with diabetes. He was 55.

When Dad was buried there had to be at least two feet of snow on the ground form a recent storm. The cemetery seemed so blustery and cold that day, the sky so gray, the trees so bare. I wondered how life would go on without Dad.

Dad never did get to see his beloved Phillies win a championship. But when the team finally captured the title in 1980 I could feel Dad with me. I cried, thinking of dad and how happy he would be, and how happy he must be.

Dad has followed me through out my life. He didn't think of me as handicapped. He encouraged me to do the best I can. I thought of him again when I graduated form West Chester U. with a degree in social work. He was the inspiration for getting up each day when I didn't feel like it, or when the weather sucked, or when my bones ached with pain. I had to go to work everyday, just like Dad.

I hope I made him proud.I love him very much.

He would've been 96 on June 5.Even though he is gone, and has been physically gone for 40 years, he is always in my heart, forever.