When Father’s Day made its appearance on the calendar of 1965, I observed the day with a heavy heart. My dad had lost his life in an oil field accident just a few weeks earlier. As a 12-year-old boy, I could only focus on what I had lost.
Now that I’ve had 47 years to reminisce, I know how fortunate I was to have had Eddie Seymour for my father. Dad was very involved in the lives of his three sons. He taught us how to hunt, fish, and how to play the game of baseball.
At an early age, Dad’s appreciation for fast cars was see in his frequent race with the train as he would speed down a gravel road to beat it to the crossing. I think Dad’s need for speed found its way into the DNA of his boys.
I have a clear memory of each evening when Dad got home from work. He would hit the shower and sing. I would stand outside on the patio and I could hear the running water and Dad’s voice as he belted out: I wish I was an apple, a hanging on the tree and every time my Cindy passed, she’d take a bite of me.
When you’re a boy of 12, you have no idea how precious life is and how short it can be. The meaning of family is a concept that you never really consider.
As a man of 59, my perspective on life has matured. I know how important it is to have a loving mother and father. I know what its like to experience the powerful emotions of loss, sorrow, grief, and joy.
Through each of these life cycle events, I have paused to think of Dad; and, after all of these years, I still miss him and I still have a great deal of love for him in my heart.
Hey Dad, happy Father’s Day.