Saturday, June 16, 2007

Happy Father's Day

It's funny what grandchildren do to your own parents.

Growing up, my two brothers and I called our father Dad, maybe Daddy until we were about five.

Dad taught us his love of reading , his love of music, his love of many sports and the outdoors, edited our papers and taught us how to write, how to mow a lawn, how to drive a tractor, then how to drive a car, and indulged our interest in sailing. But perhaps most importantly Dad quietly demonstrated his drive to do what is right no matter what others think. Sometimes this was embarrassing, particularly in the junior high years, but it left an impression.

When grandchildren arrived, Dad announced that he wanted to be called Pops. I remember protesting that grandparents can't choose what they're going to be called, but with the advent of our daughter I realized that this infant wasn't going to be calling anybody any name anytime soon, and number two grandchild at 5 months younger wasn't going to be adding to the nomenclature soon, either. So, Dad became Pops. And a few years ago said daughter morphed Pops into Popsie.

Never in a million years would I have thought of my Dad as Pops. Or Popsie.

Happy Father's Day, Popsie!

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