Fathers Day

I recently finished Clive Cussler's latest, "Blue Medusa," and as usual it was very entertaining. There are the dashing, wisecracking heroes, dastardly villains, beautiful yet smart and brave heroines, lots of hi tech, lots of chases, lots of explosions, lots of narrow escapes. Great art it isn't, but then again many of the classics are real snoozers favored only by high school English teachers who get sadistic delight out of assigning them to their students.

However, with this and any Cussler novel for the past ten years, I have bittersweet feelings when I'm done reading. My dad introduced me to his books when he thought I would enjoy "Raise The Titanic." I would say staying almost that entire night to read it counts as enjoyment. Afterwards, I could always count on Cussler coming out with a new book in time for either Dad's birthday or Fathers Day. Not only did that make present shopping a breeze, but afterwards Dad and I would spend several long phone calls or exchange letters discussing the book.

The ultimate was when I got Dad an autographed cupy of "Incas Gold." He was thrilled beyond words to say the least. After Dad passed away ten years ago, I kept buying every Cussler novel the moment it came out. But it was frustrating and saddening not being able to talk to Dad afterwards.

Beyond our love for the same adventure writer, Dad and I shared a lot of interests. He got me interested in auto mechanics, and how could I ever forget mailing him the carburetor from my 1974 Mazda to be rebuilt? We also had a love of sports, (and to maintain a father son relationship I'm so fortunate Cal never played Notre Dame in football, or even worse, played and beat them). He introduced me to airplanes, and as I noted in a previous blog even at the age of four I could recognize several types by sight.

But most of all he taught me honesty and integrity in all things, he tried hard to teach me patience, which is a lesson learned with mixed results over the years. He taught me tolerance and respect for all. He taught me good manners, and to never compromise my principles. He got me interested in history, science and astronomy. But try as he might, while I do very well with statistics, I never did get very far with higher math.

He would have supported me completely during my divorce, and would be delighted with my new English wife. I'm sure he would get along wonderfully with my new in-laws. Dad could spin a great yarn, as can my father-in-law. Getting them together would provide many hours of entertainment.

There are some hurts that are never meant to heal. Dad's absence is one of them. But that hurt is not a bad thing, it makes me appreciate more and more as time goes on what he did and who he was. It's the type of hurt that keeps memories fresh. I'll see him again someday, and I know the first thing we'll talk about is getting caught up on Clive Cussler's books.