In honor of Father’s Day, I want to share memories of my dad. My father was a handsome man with broad shoulders, blonde hair, and was very gregarious, I envied his outgoing personality. Dad was an executive with the General Electric Company. As Marketing Manager for portable appliances (mixers, toasters, electric blankets, clocks, etc.) he was a big deal. He wasn’t a VP but next level to it. Driving by the GE headquarters in Bridgeport, Connecticut, I used to brag that it was my dad’s car parked in the front four spaces. Most would respond, “So?”

Dad was a WW II vet, having been a PT Boat skipper. He claimed to have followed JFK through the training bases and theater of war where Kennedy became the “Hero of PT 109.”

His GE responsibilities after the War had us moving to different states every year from the time I was born until high school; Connecticut, Maryland, Virginia, Indiana, Missouri, Kansas, Nebraska, and back to Connecticut. When I would meet my new classmates at a new school, I would say, “Don’t get too friendly because I won’t be around long.”

Dad traveled on business a lot and didn’t have opportunities for PTA or Scout meetings but did take a keen interest in my activities. When available, he accompanied us on Scout jamborees or field trips. I loved it when my friends asked him about his war experiences.

Dad never missed my weekend football games or an occasional track meet. He was there the day I set the School’s discus record. I heard about his boasting about it at the local gas station.

Dad had a standard of ethics and honesty that always impressed me. When I would screw up, which happened more than once, it was his disappointment in me that hurt the most. One night in high school my friends and I wrecked my mother’s brand-new car and didn’t get home until noon the next day. I thought my dad would kill me. He was mad all right, but primarily because I missed showing up at my weekend gas station job. I had an obligation to my employer and being AWOL was unforgivable. Oh, and I had to pay the deductible on that car repair.

My proudest moment occurred when I was named an All-District First Team football player. I hadn’t said anything about it to my parents. Knowing the Sunday Bridgeport Post would have the selectee’s pictures spread across the front page of the sports section, I watched from my upstairs bedroom window as dad walked out to get the newspaper. He opened it at the end of the driveway, turned to the sports section and then went running across the street to greet a neighbor waving that newspaper. It doesn’t get any better than that.

I found a Father’s Day card one year that said it all: “The greatest compliment I’ve ever had, is being told, you’re just like your dad.”