HERO

On Thursday, I met up with a gentleman who I haven't seen in years. He asked me if my dad was still alive.

I responded that, sadly, I lost my dad, at the age of 88, back in May 2007.

Born to an Irish-Catholic family, in the anthracite coal region of Pennsylvania, my father joined the U.S. Army Air Corps after graduating from high school, where he earned the rank of Master Sergeant, and served in London during the German blitz of World War II.

In 1945, he married my mother, and their marriage lasted 63 years, until his death. He raised my brother and I, he was always our greatest fan and supporter. He never missed any of my sporting events, and he attended as many of my races as he could. Olympic champions were no match for his son...in his eyes, at least.

After working for 40 years in the office at a local business that repaired giant motors that powered equipment for coal mine operations, he retired, and was hopelessly bored. It was around that time that I opened an athletic footwear store. My dad was the manager, and he was in his glory. A passionate sports fan, he especially enjoyed local sports. Every customer was treated to several of my dad's stories, most of which contained an Irish flair. In addition, he had an amazing ability to recall statistics, records, and accomplishments of almost every athlete who entered the store. For example, a runner would be complimented with, "I see you ran a great 800-Meter race the other day. Second place, huh?" After a basketball game, the young man who came into the store would hear, "Twelve points, and 5 assists. The Tigers have a good team. Good job!"

The gentleman I met on Thursday, in his mid-40s, recounted similar stories, declaring, "I'll never forget your dad. He was a great guy."

My mother and father went for 2 to 3 mile walks, several times a week, until he was 85. Dementia, however, gripped my dad for his final three years.

He loved to talk. He loved to tell stories. On the day he died, I went to his room in the nursing home at 3:00 a.m., and left at 7:00 a.m. Lapsing in and out of consciousness, and not really knowing I was there, my dad filibustered, recalling events that occurred back in the 1930s.

It was a fitting, peaceful ending, to a terrific life.

I dedicated my book, www.runningshorts.com, to my dad. It was my intent to make him proud.

I am proud to have called him my dad.

Happy Father's Day.