My story isn’t unlike a lot of other people’s who come from a single parent household.  My father wasn’t around when I was growing up.  Not because he was a deadbeat dad, but simply because he was no longer alive.  My father was the kind who liked to get around back in the day and as a result, I have a number of half brothers and sisters. 

March 7th would have been my father’s 80th birthday.  That fact barely hit me because I never typically even thought about it.  Why should you commemorate the birthday of someone you never knew?  As far as I know, he wasn’t even around to celebrate my one and only birthday that we were both alive to share, not that I wouldn’t have remembered much of the experience anyway.

If you do the math, you’ll see that I came along fairly late in my father’s life.  I have no illusions that we would have had a great relationship.  My brother James is the only person still living whom I know of who
remembers what our father was like.  I wasn’t even 2 when he passed,
and most of the people I know of who knew him are no longer with us. 
From what I understand though, he wasn’t much of a dad to my brother or
our sisters, both of whom sadly are no longer with us either.

Still, like any of us, I’m curious as to where it is I come from.  And I lament the fact that I never got to know him, for good or bad.  I know that he was married three times.  I know that he served in Korea.  I know that he was a ladies man, frequently at the expense of said marriages.  I know that he could have a vicious temper but was generally an enjoyable man to be around.  He liked to go out and drink and smoke and club.  I know he was a police officer.  I know that my mother loved him but I don’t know if it was mutual. 

In the end, this is just a little note from me to him that he may have always been out of sight, but wasn’t always out of mind.  Happy 80th, James.