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Memories of a Great Dad

share one. “I want one of my own,” Dad said clearly. Bac k at t he nu r si ng home , I pushed Dad in his wheelchair to his room and went off to park the car. Mom checked Dad back in at the nursing station, leaving Pat in the room with him. Dad sat up in his wheelchair, looked her in the eye and said, “What do you do for a living?” Slightly taken aback, Pat said, “I work for the president and CEO of a small software engineering company.” “How small?” Dad wanted to know. “About 300 employees,” she said. “That’s not small,” he said. Just then, Mom walked in and Dad drifted off as if the conversation had ne ver happene d. W hen we were leaving, I leaned over to kiss

road trip to Lake Michigan, one of his favorite destinations. I drove, Dad rode shotgun. Pat and Mom sat in the back getting to know each other. Dad seemed to be out of it, but I chatted away. As we approached a stop sign, Dad, without moving his head, said, “Watch out for this intersection, it’s a bad one. People have been killed here.” He knew exactly where he was. We stopped at the Pronto-Pup stand near the beach in Grand Haven, and I said I was going to get one. The batter-dipped, deep-fried hotdog on a stick had been a delicacy of my youth. I convinced Pat to try one. Mom asked Dad if he wanted to

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Profile for Tidewater Times

June 2014 ttimes web magazine  

Tidewater Times June 2014

June 2014 ttimes web magazine  

Tidewater Times June 2014