My Dad

My dad taught me to fish, hunt, tie flies, crank an ice cream freezer and play golf. He took me outside to walk through river bottoms and pine covered hills. He let me row the boat in search of catfish and drive the truck to learn to shift gears. The biggest gift he gave me, however, was his love of learning.

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Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

4 thoughts on “My Dad”

  1. For my 6th birthday my dad came home from the job with concrete covered boots and clothed in sawdust with a present for me. It was a kids bow and arrow. Amazing, he really knew me then.

  2. This year my Dad would have been 108 but he’s been gone for a 30 years. Sometimes I wonder why, when I think of him I strongly feel in the presence of a wonderful person. Dad is my gold standard for integrity, honesty, enthusiasm, love of all things beautiful. Dad was an organic gardener before organic gardening became a cliche. He is the one who said back in the ’50’s that “We (he meant the human race) would die in our garbage.” He deplored the “throw away society.” Dad’s zest for learning matched his zest for inclusiveness. He was no racist; no exclusionary. He was the one who instilled me with living with wide open eyes. And although everyone in our family was/is a life-long Cub fan, because of Dad, we’d NEVER be seen having a ticket to the World Series with a cost that would feed a whole family of Haitians literally for months. I’m so glad to find out the score for free (yes, even not paying for airwaves is part of Dad’s legacy. )

  3. My dad was not cut out to be a good dad or a good husband. However, he was a fantastic human being. As a child during the Great Depression he was placed, along with his sister and brother, in a Pennsylvania Catholic orphanage by their mother. Clearly, this had a tremendous impact on him for his entire life. He was movie star handsome. Extremely intelligent – he taught himself to play the piano, clarinet, and banjo. He wrote poetry. He was a nomad and traveled extensively across the country finally settling down in Florida where he built himself a small house on the edge of a pond after his retirement. It took me quite a long time to understand some people just aren’t meant to marry and have children. I am glad that I learned to love and respect him as I grew older instead of hating that he wasn’t there for my mother and brother and me. At the end of his life he came to live with me for several months before he died. I was glad I was able to care for him. I am very glad that I found maturity brought understanding.

  4. My dad was definitely not a “house person “. Unlike other dads, he was never there when we fell sick , and vomited through the night . He wasn’t there either ,to celebrate when we brought home prizes . He wasn’t there for our heartaches , our grazed knees . We were brought up by our grandparents , and learnt to treat Dad as a sibling , fallible and frivolous . He would bring gifts , when he came for occasional visits, but that wouldn’t compensate for eyes desperately searching the crowd , at every annual function , praying and hoping against hope , that he would turn up . Everyone else would have an orderly set of young parents , sitting in their Sunday best , smiling . I would have my aged , bent grandfather , who had to be told everything ,twice , into his ear.

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