Talking with Pop

[jlrhiner]

As many here are aware, I had a stroke in January and have been battling that since. They put me on disability, and I went ahead and retired from the Boilermakers effective 1 July. My father, who retired from the Boilermakers in 1984, is still around. (He turned 86 on 12 June). I got him to go to the Union meeting that I retired at and we are now part of a very small group, that of retired fathers and sons.

On the way to the meeting, we were talking about age in general and dad in particular, and I made the comment that when he was born, they still flew bi-planes. He said that not only that, but he remembers when Charles Lindbergh flew across the Atlantic. He remembered listening to the radio when they had his "big" parade. He then talked about the Lindbergh baby, and how scared that made him that someone would take a baby and what if it happened to him, (he was tenish). It was fascinating listening to him. You have to remember, most of our conversations concern whatever I'm doing wrong at the moment. It was the first time he ever just opened up and talked to me. (Bear in mind I'll be 51 shortly).

 

[klondike]

Thread could have read, "Listening to Pop". I know that my dad tried many times to have a conversation but I was too busy or full of myself to listen. I wish that I had.

 

[bmhiii]

I was lucky in a way, I was living in CO when Dad had a heart attack. I moved back within a month and had a wonderful handfull of years with him before he passed. Moving back to be with Dad and Mom was the best thing I've ever done in my life.

Jim, nurture what you have with Pop. I bet there's more of those conversation in your near future.

 

[Evil One]

I had just spent my life savings to move to California, when my father got the word that he had cancer.
I sold everything and moved back to NC to be with him.
He was the most amazing, interesting, and entertaining person I have ever known.
My father died 9 months after he found out he was sick.
I was lucky and had a great relationship with him from the time I was 15 till his death.
He died way too young, 54 years old.
He has been gone for 6 years now... and I am just getting to the point that I can talk about him in depth without tearing up.
He was not only my father, but my best friend.

Cherish every minute you get with him.


Jim

 

[CordWood]

Jim, take advantage of your time and talk with a lot of listening on your part. You will not regret doing that at the expense of other pursuits. You will never get a chance to do it again.
My Dad will be gone 3 years in September. Dad and I were extremely close and were always that way. For a man with a fifth grade education, he was smart, wise, tender, hard, compassionate, etc. HE was and is my Hero. I cherish my time that was spent listening to him and his stories.
One last piece of advise. Make the last words at every visit, I Love You. Ours was and they are worth more that gold to me. I am typing this with moisture in my eyes. It is still hard to speak or write about him.
Butch

 

[jun225]

First, I wish you well. Second, thanks for posting this. I remember when I used to have long talks with my dad. He passed away 2004. I miss those times still.

Jun

 

[afriqueart]

I never knew my dads dad. My dad had a yellowed piece of paper with this typed on it: I loved looking at it when I was a kid. I didn't know how much that yellowed piece of paper would mean to me now.

________________________________

When I Was……

4 Years: My daddy can do anything
7 Years: My daddy knows a lot, a whole lot.
8 Years: My father doesn't quite know everything.
12 Years: Oh well, naturally my father doesn't know everything.
14 Years: Father? Hopelessly old fashioned.
21 Years: Oh! That man is out of date, what did you expect?
25 Years: He knows a little bit about it, but not much.
30 Years: Must find out what dad thinks about it.
35 Years: A little patience, let's get dad's opinion first.
50 Years: What would dad have thought about it?
60 Years: My dad knew literally everything.
65 Years: I wish I could talk it over with dad once more.