I remember how I thought of Daddy when this picture was made. He was DADDY, for heaven's sake, the one with all the answers. But I've done the math now, and I know better. I was about four years old when the two of us stepped into one of those little photo booths for this picture. So he must've been 29 or 30. A kid. Just a young, clueless parent trying to figure it out as he went along. And I have to say, he did OK. You're grown before you realize that your parents are just people—in my case, just a teenage couple who met in high school and had enough love between them to stay together for . . . I think we're going on 53 years now? (I'll be in big trouble if they read this and find out I'm fuzzy on their anniversary. But I have trouble remembering how long I've been married, so there.) On this Father's Day, I would like to thank Daddy—June Bug as I sometimes call him:)—for so many things, but most of all, for putting fatherhood first, even when that was hard to do. When I was really young, he sold life insurance in Birmingham, back when Highway 280, the main corridor into town, was a two-lane road. Not an easy commute. But he would make that drive, work all day, make it again, and then sit down with a little slateboard and a piece of chalk when he got home and teach me my alphabet because I wanted to read so badly.
(Later, he and Mama both had the unfortunate task of trying to help me with math, which I most certainly did NOT want to learn. Witness my expression in homework photo at right.) Daddy has always believed in making things special. When I had to have a just-so pair of sandals, he would stop by Parisian after work and bring a new pair home every night. I'd shake my head no, he'd return them the next day and bring a new pair the following night. He did that every night for a week till I finally got happy with my footwear. All of this for a preschooler. When I saw a chimpanzee on TV and decided I wanted to raise one, he actually looked into it. Until Mama found out:) I wanted to be Peggy Fleming. He investigated figure skating opportunities, even though we were living in rural Alabama with nary a rink in sight. I had a special gift, as a child, for getting deathly ill just before Christmas and
upending everybody's plans, but he always tried to make me feel better about missing out on the family gift swaps. And he always tried to make sure my most longed-for present was under the tree, even though money was pretty scarce back then. He loves shopping—for me—and I admire that. He loves sharing good music with me, and I appreciate that. He loves sharing time with me, and the older I get, the more I treasure that. As a very young father, Daddy mastered the art of being there. And he's held onto it for all of my 49-and-counting years. So thanks, June Bug. I love you very much.




