An untold story: Why Dad wouldn’t let us swim without him

Last week was Father’s Day and one doesn’t need a special Father’s Day or a special Mother’s Day to remember their parents. This article will be about my father. My father was “daddy” and then he was “dad.” I could say I never really knew my dad, but I knew and loved him the way he was. It was after his death that I found out from my mother what my dad had carried on his shoulder throughout his life. I often heard friends of his speak of my father as the “life of the party,” “the joker,” “the storyteller” a real humorist. I couldn’t imagine my dad being that way at all. I only remember that he was one with very few words. He would go and watch his kids in all their athletic activities; he never criticized, nor did he compliment.

After losing in the junior high state basketball tournament in three overtimes, after having a season record of 20-0, we twelve-year-old kids were in tears after that game. Still without saying a word, my dad came into our dressing room and gave me a pat on the back and walked out. I liked that; I knew what that pat meant. &nbsp;&nbsp;<ahref=""><spanstyl... 13px; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">To view more, please log in or subscribe to the digital edition.</span></a></p>