Bill OBoyle: So many memories of dad that will never fade
Jun. 18—WILKES-BARRE — What I wouldn't do to be sitting in Yankee Stadium again with my dad and watching the Bronx Bombers.
We attended so many Yankees games back in the day and every trip to New York was fun and filled with memories that will never fade.
For so many of us, all we have today are those memories — of family, fun, and of lessons learned on a daily basis. Although, when I was learning those lessons, I really had no idea the lasting effects my dad and my mom would have on me as I traveled through life.
I think it's important for me to always mention our family — three people, four good legs and I had two of those, yet I managed to be the least productive of the three of us. My mom had polio as a child and she wore a cumbersome brace on her left leg. My dad went off to war and returned home with one less leg — he lost his right leg when he stepped on a land mine in Northern France on D-Day.
But those significant disabilities never slowed either of them down — they were active in the community and they never once complained about the hand they were dealt.
My parents provided me with the very best examples of what it means to be a genuine human being and to care about family, friends and community.
So today, I fondly recall my dad — who he was, and what he meant to me and so many others.
I'll never forget the way my father walked. He wore a big wooden leg that required him to walk with a very pronounced limp and he wore that wooden leg for most of his life.
Dad worked at Leslie Fay for almost 30 years before he had a stroke and had to retire. And as clear as I can still see him walking with that limp and that wooden leg, that's surely not all I remember about my dad.
He loved TV Westerns and he read Western paperback books. He ducked punches thrown on those TV Westerns. And he loved "Wheel of Fortune" and "The Golden Girls."
He had such a deep love of sports — the Yankees, football Giants, Knicks, Rangers, Notre Dame, Plymouth's Shawnee Indians, the Wilkes-Barre Barons basketball team, and many more, even Joe Paterno's Penn State Nittany Lions.
But those trips to Yankee Stadium were the best. We would leave Friday afternoon for New York City — me, my mom and my dad, along with dad's sister, Aunt Betty, and Uncle Joe. There was nothing like a weekend series at "the Stadium" — especially if the Red Sox were in town.
Looking back, I realize these trips were all for me. Dad wanted me to see these players in these games. I know now that being there all those times made my dad feel good just because I was there with him.
That's why I think of him every day. I think about the times playing catch in our side yard. I was a big kid at 11 and 12 years old — 6-feet tall. He challenged me to throw as hard as I could, so I did. Sometimes I knocked him over. His response? "That's it, throw it hard."
Constant encouragement, that was my dad. When I played basketball or baseball, his advice was this: "You can't hit what you can't see." In other words, keep your eye on the ball and the basket.
I was lucky to have a genuine American war hero as a father. His patriotism was embedded in me. We always attended ceremonies for veterans, and he always made sure I stood at attention with my right hand over my heart. Remembering those who gave the ultimate sacrifice was mandatory in our house. My dad always told me how if it weren't for veterans, we would be living in a very different world.
My dad was always there for me — in the stands at my baseball games, my basketball games and at all the practices. He watched, but he never complained. He never questioned any of my coaches. He always taught me to respect my teachers and coaches.
Along the way, my dad co-founded the Plymouth Little League. He served as league president most of his life, except for the four years I played. He didn't want to even have the appearance of favoritism shown toward me.
I have never met one person who ever said anything bad about my dad. That's quite a legacy. He was fair, even if it seemed unfair to me.
We had quite a journey together. He had to deal with the trials and tribulations of having a son — an only child — who struggled with school, peer pressure and socialization. But he let me find my way, all the while, however, he was watching.
He was happy when I told him I was getting married and he was understanding when I told him I was getting divorced.
He always asked how I was doing and he always was there to answer the phone, even if I was calling just to check on him.
My dad was a husband, a father, a brother and uncle, and a friend to so many. He gave of himself for the betterment of others. He was a proud, humble, compassionate man.
Certainly, he bettered me.
I'm grateful I had him to be there for me when I needed him.
And, more importantly, for the times when I thought I didn't need him to be there.
I learned about love from my dad. I knew he and my mom had a special relationship from the beginning.
But it was when my mom took sick that I saw love up close. I saw the expressions on his face, the holding of hands, the tears. I saw the devotion of nightly visits to the hospital and weekend trips to Philadelphia to be at mom's side. I listened when they talked. I heard the conversations of two people in love.
I remember it all like it was yesterday. And even though all those yesterdays are gone, my dad is always with me and he will be forever, just like my mom.
Happy Father's Day.
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Reach Bill O'Boyle at 570-991-6118 or on Twitter @TLBillOBoyle.
