My Dad was a building contractor; he had me on the job site in the summers, spent countless hours teaching me the trade. Unfortunately many of those hours were spent in his Ford pickup with the cab filled with cigar smoke. He insisted if I opened my window all the smoke would come toward me.
So I grew up with a hammer in my hand, he helped teach me about car repair; encouraged me to do the valve job on my first car, the Fiat. I can do simple electrics, carpentry, even finish carpentry; and do some woodworking. All because of his encouragement and bonding with me.
My Dad sang a lot—maudlin old songs about a lost loved one. I know all those and hundreds more, and I love singing; but I took it to the level of voice training, and now singing in a chorus with the San Diego Symphony.

Dad always preached honesty to us; said he’s punish us not so much for doing something wrong as for lying to him about it.

Then came the days when I realized he had not been honest with us; had not been faithful to his wife; my parents were divorced.

Through it all, I always knew my Dad loved me; and I try, not always successfully, to let my children and now grandchildren know I love them.

And our marriage has now lasted more than twice the length of my parents’ 26-year marriage.

I truly hope that nothing from my father rubbed off on me. My father left my mother and I when I was only a year old. They were married for 5 years prior to my birth, but that didn’t matter, he up and left us and I haven’t seen him in 43 years. My grandfather was like a father to me and I hope that I have a good bit of his characteristics. I know I’ve got a good bit of his work ethic and his general handiness. I hope that nobody ever associates me with my father, but if I end up as half the man my grandfather was then I’d be damn proud.