Heart-to-Heart. Soul-to-Soul.

First time Dad said he loved me (without Mom’s prompting) I was 30. Not sure how I responded. Probably, “Love you, too.”

Had two kids at that time. One by my first wife; one by my second.

Having kids changes your perspective. (It changed mine.) Found myself more forgiving of my parents. Why? Because kids are impossible—cute though they may be. When they’re babies, they can’t listen. Not really. As they get older, they don’t listen. That’s a fact.

Dad and I hadn’t had the best relationship: I was a nerd-type before that term existed. He was a World War Two guy. Strong silent type. Worked construction. Me? Liked to read: Books. Magazines. Comics. Backs of cereal boxes. You name it.

My geeky behavior frustrated Dad. In every way. Whether I was sorting boxes of nails, screws, and washers, or holding a flashlight as he worked on cars, I’d mess up. Then he’d chase me way, saying, “Go read a book.”

Which, of course, I did.

After graduation, I went away to college. Hung out with the wrong crowd. Messed with drugs. Eloped with a girl I’d known just six weeks. Flunked out of school.

Couldn’t get worse, right?

Wrong.

Got drafted by the Army. (Joined the Navy instead. Why? Two reasons: First, I liked Navy pea-coats; second, figured I wouldn’t end up in Vietnam.)

Got in trouble with drugs—again. Got sent to Vietnam. Got a “Dear John” letter.

Bam. Bam. Bam.

When my four years in the Navy were up, went back home to see Mom and Dad. Had to tell ’em how bad things were; had to tell ’em I had no money, no-where to live.

They let me sleep on the couch.

I share this fall from grace to show how arrogant I’d been. Big shot. Self-important. Egotistical. Like a modern-day Prodigal Son who thought he knew everything and deserved everything—turned out I knew nothing at all. Deserved even less.

Eventually, I used my G.I. Bill to go back to college. Double-majored in Mass Communication and Political Science. Graduated Summa Cum Laude. (Amazing what you can accomplish when life smacks you between the eyes.)

Within two weeks of graduating, I got a job at a newspaper. Dad, who only had an eighth-grade education, subscribed to that paper. Read every article I wrote. Even gave me story ideas. We finally had a real relationship.

I cherish the day Dad said he loved me. It was great. Huggin’ that big bear of a man. Feelin’ him hug me back. Heart-to-heart. Soul-to-soul. I also remember the day about two years later when my brother Doug showed up on my doorstep. He was crying. Through his tears, he managed to speak: Dad was in the hospital. Paralyzed from the neck down. Doctors weren’t sure why.

Ten days later, Dad died. It all happened so fast. Too fast. It took me months before I could cry. When I did, it was at a store in the mall. In the men’s department. Where mannequins wearing work clothes stood guard. Blubbered like a baby. Wishin’ I could hug Dad and say, “Love you, too.” Just one more time.