I didn’t want to let the day go by without acknowledging that it’s a big one for my family–the centenary of my father’s birth.
He had a huge influence on me, on my brothers, and on thousands–probably tens of thousands–of high school students who sat in desks while he discussed American history and photography for decades.
My father’s century was not an easy one to be born into–at the end of a war that was supposed to make the world safe for democracy, and less than a year after an influenza epidemic that killed millions.
His times were marked by another World War that began right after he became the first member of his family to graduate from college. It took five years from the life of a generation. But he roared back by earning a master’s degree, marrying, starting a family, buying a home, and working hard to provide the best life he could for his dependents.
And it was a good life–good times, laughter, good food, and as little adversity as there could possibly be.
A life can be measured by the others one touches. In my dad’s case, it was a huge number. And in my case, even though he has been gone since 2002, the touch continues.