Excellent topic, NNY78.

As many of you know, my dad has been suffering from dementia. Yesterday I spent the day with my parents to help drive them for errands before we stopped for lunch. I then cut the grass. At that point my dad came out to thank me and tell me I did enough cutting. I continued and he then tried to hand me cash. When I finished, he thanked me and said that I looked familiar, but he couldn't remember my last name.

But I have many delightful and poignant memories of my dad from childhood. He worked full-time and went to night school to earn his college degree, and I remember him studying at the dining room table every night I'd kiss him goodnight. He regularly preached to my brothers, sister and me to get as much education as you can, and he sacrificed greatly to send all four of us to a Jesuit high school. His one regret he told me in 1997 when he was facing surgery for colon cancer was that he didn't study to be a doctor. He said at the time he didn't think it was possible with a family and a job, but in retrospect he felt certain he could have done. Instead, after his degree was earned, he worked in hospital administration.

He was always slow to anger, but commanded deep respect among the family. Even as a child I could discern the respect given to him among his peers. He was a gentleman with a sense of humor that could be dry, dark and boisterous.

One memory that kind of sums him up: One summer when I was 5 my brother broke a fairly large window when he threw a ball from the back yard through our kitchen window. None of us kids in the neighborhood ever saw that happen, and some of the older kids told terrifying stories of how families had to move from their damaged homes because of broken windows.

A dozen kids waited outside to see my brother get the beating of a lifetime when my father got home. There was suppressed excitement and anxiety when his station wagon pulled into the driveway, and he expressionlessly made his way to the backyard. My brother had tears in his eyes when Dad called his name, pointed to the window and said sternly, "Did you do this?"

My brother could only nod, controlling his sobs. Dad then said, "Where were you when you did this?" My brother pointed to a place just past a large maple tree. Dad then put his arm around him, smiled and said, "Wow! What a strong arm you have for your age! Get your glove and let's play catch!"

I remember that day in 1970 as though it happened yesterday.