My Dad

This is my portion of the Eulogy for my Father.

To contemplate my father, I have to think of my mother, as the two of them were inseparable.

Single memories are few.

 He and I used to wargame. Consider a board with hexagons on a map that is of a historical battle. Little squares of cardboard with unit symbols all to recreate a moment in history. I lost a lot. 

History was something I learned to love from my father, and books, reading anything I could. I had to learn to read early because other people didn’t have the time to read everything to me, I do mean everything. I sit here considering memory, thoughts of my father and how to give anyone the influence of this man in my life that wouldn’t require the number of years I experienced them. 

We, as humans, are self centered and so our view points are always from the eyes outward. I can’t quite give my earliest memories of my father, though I do remember Christmas mornings standing with my sisters in the hall with the closet doors shutting us from the living room, and one Thanksgiving that my father stayed home with me while the family went visiting relatives, because I was beset by a nosebleed that wouldn’t desist. 

I remember the models my father loved to work on. One we never finished was a large scale of the Cutty Sark. It would have been lovely. I kept looking for a copy of one, but couldn’t find it. A model of the Saturn V rocket sits in my memory, and probably somewhere in the house.   

The room across from the bath in my parents home is filled with books, growing up this was my bedroom, and I would have been just as happy if the shelves had been there then. My own home has book shelves in every room and I know why. My mother told a story of the early years of their marriage when Dad would sneak off to the bookstore to read, so I come by it naturally. His tablet on the kitchen table is filled with e-books, and I am happy that my kids also mostly love books too.

Traveling back from any trip I remember my Dad trying to get us all to concentrate on teleporting to the driveway, I tried that on my youngest and he thought we would just crash into the garage door, conservation of momentum and all.

I see many of my own responses to things as reflections of my father’s, not always to my benefit, but I understand why the worries of the people you love can cause such frustrations.

Dad worried about all of us, and I know that I worry about our family as well. Those are the hazards of actually loving people, I guess.

Published by David McGillem

David, only son, but third child of Robert and Barbara McGillem, lives as a simple Methodist in Indianapolis Indiana. A long time fan of classic Science Fiction, David has attended conventions throughout the states around Indiana. Proud father of four, that all have some stories to tell, his family has always come first. David has studied geology, architectural drafting, truck driving, has a degree in PC troubleshooting, and currently works as a CNC Machinist. David has been a writer all his life, first forming stories for his friends to put on in the backyard and onto many hours of tabletop RPGs. David lives with his two biggest supporters, Cynthia and Nichole, in a small Victorian house on the near southside spending time roleplaying and upkeeping the house.

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