I am looking forward
to seeing a lot of old friends for the 2011 Dan McCarty Golf
Classic. Although not able to play, I am looking forward to
rekindling old friendships, remembering Dan, and raising some money
for the Lupus Alliance of Michigan.
Also in June we
celebrate Father's Day. Twenty years ago, on June 1, 1991, my dad
Robert McCarty was taken from us. Although the pain of losing a
parent subsides over time, the spirit of my Dad will be with me
forever. When I see his picture every day, it brings him back to me
for at least a little while. His smile, sense of humor, bad singing
voice, his "Bob-isms", and his strength physically and spiritually
is something I can always cherish. My final thought is a repeat, but
seems appropriate for this year.
Several years ago at about
this same time, I just happened to be in the card shop looking for a
birthday card, when a man struck up a conversation. "What are you
giving your father this year for Father's Day?" he asked me. "My father died
in 1991," I said.
Obviously embarrassed, he said, "Oh, I'm sorry. I never thought to
ask." Then without hesitation he continued, "It's just that I
always have a hard time trying to find something for my father. It's not
that he has everything, but whatever you give him always ends up in a
drawer unused. I have this great fear that when he dies I'm going to find
all my gifts for him still in the original packaging."
"I know exactly how you feel," I answered. "Each Father's
Day, my wife and I decided to take him and mom out to dinner and give him
a gift card to whatever store he shopped. It was really not very personal,
but he liked it. He got to choose what he wanted." "No
matter what we give him, he always says the same thing, 'Oh, that's nice.
You're wasting your money!'" he said, laughing. "Then he sets it
aside."
"Well, it's easy for me now. I just sing for him,"
I told him.
"But I thought you said he was dead."
"Yes, but he's still very much alive in me," I replied. "I
sing because he always enjoyed singing with my mom as she played piano,
and he always loved hearing my mom sing. I grew up on great music. I'm
just paying him back."
"Where do you sing for him?"
"At the cemetery, of course."
"Okay..." He seemed skeptical.
"Every Father's Day I visit the cemetery. Because his grave is fairly
close to the road, I am able to pull up next to it. I open my car door,
pop in my own CD I recorded and stand over his grave and sing."
"What do you sing?" he asked.
"Too Ra Loo Ra. It was an old Bing Crosby hit and was my Dad's
favorite. It always brought tears to his eyes." "Then
what?" "Then I get back in my car and go home."
"Don't you feel foolish?" he asked. "I mean there must be
other people around. Don't they look at you funny?" "To tell you
the truth I never pay attention to anyone else. Yes, I see them there, but
this is my gift for my father. They bring flowers. I sing."
"Well," he objected, "I can't sing."
"You don't have to," I told him. "While you still have your
father with you, give him your time. Sit with him. Talk to him while you
can. Ask him questions about his youth, when he met your mother, his first
job. What was his biggest dream? Do you know any of this?"
He thought for a moment, ran his fingers up and down the greeting cards in
front of him and softly said, "No. I don't."
"There will come a time when you wish you had asked," I said.
"Come to think of it, I don't even know his favorite song," he
said.
"Find out and buy it for him. Better yet, sing it with him. That, my
friend, will be the greatest gift you'll ever give him. Then on that day
when all the shirts and ties are found in his drawer unopened, you'll
still have something to give him. If a stranger stops you in a card store
and asks, you can say, 'I sing for my father.'"
