Maybe a bit late, but any and every day can be Father's Day.
My Dad was 47 when I was born in 1947, so he had lots of life experience by the time I arrived on the scene. His little family came first, Mom, sister and I. He was a progressive grain farmer, loved his farm, and did well in life. He bought me a Cooey 39 when I was about 12. He used to take me out hunting "chicken hunting". He wasn't a drinker. He had the knack of being able to fire my imagination, and always encouraged me to read whenever the opportunity came.
So much of what he talked about and showed me, I have used to great advantage in my life. He lived in poverty during the Thirties, and carried the lessons learned into the rest of his days. Some of that has rubbed off on me. He spent very little money on himself, but always made sure his family was comfortable and well fed. He passed away at 65. I am now a year older than he was when he died. There isn't a day goes by that I don't quote him, recall something he did or said, or just have a fond picture of him doing his thing.
After nearly 50 years, I still miss him. I would give anything to be able to sit down at the old farm, in the little old elevator shack, and eat sandwiches out of the old black lunch boxes with him. Not to be, however.
