As Father's Day approaches, I frequently find myself thinking about my dad. He's been dead for forty-seven years. The picture of the two of us chatting was taken in 1957 at our summer home in Cohassett, Washington. I was still in high school.
To read an essay I wrote about my father, published in 2008, click on this link. In the photo in the newspaper essay, my older, and only, sister is the other child pictured.
What a wonderful photograph of you with your father. Looks like it was taken just yesterday. It is hard to believe that it has been forty seven years since he died. I remember him very intently as such a gracious, fun, and lovely man. What a great tribute to him you wrote. Thanks for writing this.
When my younger brother,John, turned 70 last March, I called to welcome him to the age of the septuagenarian. At one point, I mentioned that though I am 13 years older now than our father was when he died, I often wish that I could lean on his wisdom when faced with some problem or other. John said he does, too. I wish I could express that as eloquently as you have.
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