One of the greatest gifts I ever received was on my twelfth birthday. My Dad gave me a small box with a note inside.
It read, “Son, this year I will give you 365 hours, an hour every day after dinner. It’s yours. We’ll talk about what you want to talk about, we’ll go where you want to go, and play what you want to play. It will be your hour.” My Dad not only kept his promise but every year he renewed it, until I went off to college, marriage and career; a transition he prepared me for with our time spent together. It was the best gift he ever gave me. I’m the result of his time. (This story is a complete fantasy. How I wish it were true.)


One Reply to Father's Day Memories

Scott Hardie | June 26, 2021
It's a fantasy but it's a nice fantasy. I don't know how much I'd give to have a single hour with my father again, let alone an hour a day. Thanks for the thoughts, Steve. :-)


Web Junkie

Steve West scours the Web searching for interest or absurdity and then shakes his head ruefully when he finds it. Read more »

Breakfast Becomes Dessert

Recently, Brenda and I had breakfast at a local diner because they have a fairly low age requirement (55) to get the "senior special". For $4.00 you get 2 eggs, bacon, hash browns and toast. Go »

What Are We Gonna Do? Road Trip.

A brand new drug has come onto the market that is touted as being a treatment for autism. It's a homeopathic drug called Respen-A. It affects the malfunctioning areas of the brain typically associated with autistic children. Go »

Bunny Revisited

My father-in-law (Norm), whom I adore, went through an emotional ordeal dealing with my mother-in law's (Bunny) illness over a lengthy period before she died in 2016. One of her doctors approached Norm and suggested he write a journal as a coping mechanism. After Bunny's death, the doctor asked Norm to allow himself to be filmed talking about his experience while writing the journal. Go »

Art Imitates Life

I had a flat tire this morning and it momentarily bummed me out. I ran over a bolt and could see it sticking out of the damned thing. I really didn't feel like crawling around on the oily pavement in my work clothes, so I called roadside assistance provided by my insurance carrier. Go »

Sleep, Really?

Recent conversation with Brenda: Me: (after winning the wishbone break) Dead chicken says I get my wish. Brenda: What did you wish for? Me: What's your greatest fantasy? Go »

Fast Food, Clowns & Intestinal Disease

Recent conversation with Brenda: Brenda: I really don't feel like cooking tonight. Is Chick-fil-A okay with you? me: As long as it's not McDonald's. Go »