healthmedicinet

My Dad passed away in April 1993, but there is not a week that goes by that I don’t think about him. I remember his tin whistle, how he loved to entertain, his artistic talents, and the long, long chats. My Lord, my father could tell a story. He could create a visual with words like no other. He would draw in his audience with his descriptions and details, and he NEVER took any shortcuts on stories. He enjoyed it so much, some stories seemed to go on forever. I remember one particular time when I was in high school; my date came to the door to pick me up to go see a movie. My dad started talking, and by the time his story was finished, so was the movie. I spent my entire date sitting in the living room waiting for him to finish. Maybe that was his plan all along.