Dr. Steve (a.k.a. Dad)
My dad is my hero.
Those of you who’ve been following Shift for a while may remember that my father is an orthopedic surgeon. He fixes bones. It’s a good job, and an important one, but what many people don’t realize is just how hard it is: My dad has NO IDEA how to sleep for eight hours.
Last weekend, he was on call*. It’d been a busy few days (call goes Thursday through Monday morning), and by Sunday afternoon he was ready for the weekend to be over. He was hoping the emergency room would stay quiet overnight, but, as usual, it didn’t. At around 10 p.m., as I was returning home from a bike ride, he passed me on his way to the hospital. A man with an ankle fracture and dislocation had been admitted to the E.R. He needed surgery, and it had to be done that night. Continue reading
My dad with his dad, 1956.
We start out mere mortals,
’til “Father” turns son.
It’s then our potential
“forever” is won.
We live through our children,
and they on through theirs.
So what will we show them?
How say, “Daddy cares”?
Dad’s love for the water started early. (Dad, right, with his brother Verlin in their backyard in Riverside, late 1950s.)
Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Two kids in a tub.
It’s here I’m no expert,
but look to the best.
And he to his own dad—
they both passed the test!
With love and compassion,
through fire and through ice,
they gave with devotion,
and never thought twice: Continue reading
Something I didn’t expect when I started this blog was . . . Well, two things actually.
One, that anyone (besides my dad—thanks, Dad!) would ever actually read what I wrote, and . . .
Two, that I would begin to feel a sense of community with the people I never expected would read my blog who actually did.
Creating this blog has allowed me to express my thoughts—thoughts which previously bounced endlessly around in the recesses of my mind—with an unknown world. In return, the unknown world has, for once, been kind: You have made me feel less alone. Continue reading