My dad wasn’t a grill meister. Other kinds of, dare I say it, more practical blue-collar work always needed tending too. And no go, with picking up a guitar. But he could always complete and compete with us in the trifecta of youth sports: Basketball, football, baseball/softball. Oh and add bowling. Forget golf. These things paint a picture of a life that he seemed destined for, even if the long hours were not fully by choice. He was 91.
Dad was not one you’d bounce a joke off of, but he could take ill-thrown, bounced balls to the chest while […]