~Clarence Budington Kelland
Random Childhood Memories of my Father:
He could fix, or build, anything. He'd spend hours down in his workshop in the basement and then come upstairs with the coolest creation for my mom's kitchen, or the living room, or the yard outside. I always thought that was amazing.
He loved music. He would always sing harmony in his deep bass voice when we were in church, or caroling, or in the car driving someplace. He knew all the words to just about every musical there is. And he'd always clap for me when I finished practicing the piano in the evenings.
He would talk to anyone. We'd be driving somewhere on vacation and stop for lunch, and the next thing you know, he'd be chatting up the couple at the next picnic table. Or the truck driver climbing out of his cab on the other side of the parking lot. Or the teenagers playing Frisbee. Countless times my sister and mom and I would be ready to leave and look around, knowing he was deep in conversation with a stranger somewhere.
He had limitless patience for me and my sister. He'd push us on the swing under our apple tree out back for hours. He'd give up a whole afternoon to put together some random toy with 100 parts. He'd do 500-piece puzzles with us. And he taught me to drive. Need I say more?
Happy Father's Day, Dad!