DAD
Edgar A. Bryan
He was tall, he was short, he was pudgy around the middle or he was slim as a rail. He was a Democrat and would have voted for the mule itself if he had run, or one of those Republicans who believed that the Grand Ole Party NEVER owned a rascal. He was black haired with silver at the temples, he was red haired with a curly twist, he was gray, or he had one of those ever widening parts. HE WAS DAD.
He was a farmer, he was a machinist, he taught school or he owned a store. He was a Methodist who loved Wesley and “A Charge to Keep I Have,” he was a Baptist with, “Water, water, everywhere and not a drop to drink,” or he didn’t profess any church name, just loved God anyway. He was the life of any gathering or he was quiet, but when he spoke it was weighty. HE WAS DAD.
He knew all the right fishing holes, he played the fiddle, he recited boyhood poetry, or could carve the neatest whistle from an elderberry stem. He was a builder, he loved to see how things were made, he would tell you what bird had just called or he had a story about when he was a boy, or even when HIS dad was a boy. He spoke with an old world accent, he stuttered some, he would use words he’d learned at war or he always mispronounced the name of one of your mother’s relatives. HE WAS DAD.
Today, on Father’s Day, we remember; his love for mom, his ideas, his dreams, his burdens and his joys. We remember him. To others he was nice or scary, friendly, or odd, interesting or “old hat” but to you – to me, HE WAS DAD.
Separate-Holy 