Sunday, June 15, 2014


I can't remember ever calling him "father".  He was always "Dad" to me and my brother.

He was my single father, as they're known these days, from the time my mother died when I was 13.

He worried a lot about that and whether he was doing a good enough job.  I was a mischievous kid and got into my share of trouble, though my scrapes were nothing compared to what kids do today.

He was a good Dad and I was lucky enough to have the chance to tell him that more than once.  And I was able to dig down beneath my North Dakota crust and tell him I loved him.

Franklin Berry Taylor