Trickster. Joker. Storyteller. Historian.
I appreciate why I laugh. I appreciate a well-told punch line. I tell stories because I've been told stories. I learned to love History, not through class or in school, but by him.
|JFK Junior High Yearbook Pic|
Erudite. Outspoken. Well-spoken. Gentleman. Clotheshorse.
I enjoy speaking to the wise. I try my best to express well my opinion, and have the knowledge to back it up. I learned to be a lady, I try. I appreciate fine clothing and take pride in how I present myself.
My father was a man of many words and every word carried weight.
Friends and family gathered round when he spoke. Loved ones still miss his wisdom, Domino buddies still call out his name.
He was funny with a straight face. Even those closest to him weren't sure whether he joked or was serious.
He delivered wisdom as a seasoned professor. He could argue as a lawyer. He knew more politics than veteran politicians, yet he hated the games played by government.
In a single afternoon, a person could learn the progression of a nation, its culture, its language, its religions and legislative bodies. How that nation began, its ancient names, if any, and where that nation leads the world in modern times.
My father read encyclopedias as novels.
He filled our New York apartment and then Florida house with several encyclopedia sets.
He was just as comfortable reading "Beetle Bailey" as he was with "One-hundred Years of Solitude".
He could recite childhood and army anecdotes as he could with the entire poem, "The Sea-King's Burial".*
He was our Dad, and on this Anniversary, he has been gone seven years. And we all still miss him.
Sergeant Welsh, we SALUTE you.
*NOTE: Google this poem. It's an epic poem and not 'epic' as we use the word today.