Earlier today I was visiting one of my favorite blogs to read http://thedailydoseofreality.blogspot.com/ . If you have a few minutes I suggest you drop by and check it out. Ian has a great style and poses some interesting questions. You won't be disappointed. So anywho I was answering a little questionaire over there and one of the questions asked to name my autobiography if I was to write one. I made reference to my father, because he is and always will be my hero.

I guess that might sound corny or sappy to some, but I happen to think that it's something more of us need to have in our lives....Heroes.
I'll tell you a little bit about my hero. My dad, Jack is a worker. He was a furniture mover, a diamond saw operator, a chemical technician (mixed big vats of chemicals). He worked his regular job, and then on weekends he played in a band. He was a very talented guitarist as a young man, and became a very talented bass player as an older man.

I rarely saw my father before 6:00 pm. He was gone before I got up, and he got home well after I was done with homework, and had settled into a book, or a board game, or some other kid game that I would use to placate myself until he arrived. Now dinner was generally when dad got home, which was usually around 6:00. Occassionally it was 5:30 and those were the especially good days for me.

As soon as the el camino came pulling into the driveway, I was trotting towards the car, to see if dad wanted to play some catch before dinner. Looking back I can't remember a time that he said no. He would always say, "Let me put my stuff away and say hi to your mom." Off he would go into the house for all of 5 minutes and back he would be. We would have a catch for about 15 or 20 minutes till mom hollered "DINNER". In we would go to clean up and eat.

Now dad worked all week, and most of the weekends, but he didn't miss Little League, Football, Basketball, Tennis, Cubscouts, Band or the occassional school program in the evenings that I managed to get myself into. He was my biggest fan, and I never heard him say a foul word in the stands. He didn't shout at the umps for bad calls, he didn't yell at ref's for bad calls, he didn't argue with other parents. he simply cheered me on, by being there hollering for me when I did something good, and always telling me what a great job I did, or if I might want to work on some problem or other that I had over the weekend. He didn't criticize me for not being the best player on the team. He always told me that I can be as good or bad as I worked to be. I took that to heart. I practiced every day for whatever sport I was playing. This bled over into my school years as well. I knew that if my grades fell, no matter what the school said, Dad would not let me play.

He saw me through the awkard moments of my teen years, like the first time I got drunk, my first heartbreak, first suspension, first bad grade. He also saw me through 104 stitches in my face after I ran through a sliding glass door. He never said a thing that would make me worry through the whole 4 hours that they stitched my face, he just sat there offering some encouragement when I started getting nervouse or down. He saw me through meningitis. My mom and dad sat at the hospital day after day, waiting for word that I would get better or die. For a week, they didn't know so my parents had to deal with that. Through it all they managed, and so did I.

I joined the Marine Corps and I watched the mix of pride and fear go across my fathers face as I explained to him what I planned to do. He didn't like me going, but he supported me through it all. I came back in one piece, but the whole time I was gone, if I was at base it was never more than 3 days between getting a phone call from my dad and a letter from mom.

He helped me through my divorce. He let me be an ass just because I was mad at the world for my marriage falling apart. He didn't blame me, he didn't try to tell me how to handle it, he just let me be, and I always knew that he was right there.

I am remarried (12 years now), and I have more children, and dad is getting up there in the years a little bit. His health is not all the great, and he will be the first to say that it's his own fault. Years of smoking have led him to COPD. He deals with it, and he still works (retiring this December). Yet throught everything, my children know that Papos is there for them just like he was there for me. He loves them unconditionally and they know that even if they don't know what unconditionally means. My son has told me many times that he could tell Papos anything and he would understand.

I still talk to my parents everyday. I live about 1/2 mile away from them and make a point of getting over to the house at least a couple times a week. I enjoy just having a chat with my Pop every now and then. We can joke around or talk about anything, sports, politics, religion and even though we don't always see eye to eye we don't get mad at each other over it.

So this is my hero. Maybe some of you have one, and maybe you don't, but this man is the reason I became the man I am. I am forever grateful to my father for his advice, and his understanding, and even though he isn't one to say it very often, I'm most grateful for his love.