My father read to me when I was a child, and I believe it had a significant impact on who I’ve become. He was a simple man in many respects, though worldly-wise. He had only an eighth grade education, a self-employed handyman and caretaker for much of his life. Most of what he knew came from his own curiosities and a love of books and reading. He handed both his insatiable curiosity and the love for reading down to me, gifts that have lasted a lifetime.
Westerns were his genre of choice. I was read Shane by Jack Shaeffer countless times as a kid, and of course others by such author’s as Zane Grey, Larry McMurtry and Louis Lamour to name just a few. Shane was his favorite, and it became mine too, a very rare First Edition find by the way; I’ve been searching for an affordable copy for my own collection for years, mostly because it reminds me of him.
He was also a terrific storyteller in his own right, although with the exception of a couple hilarious poems, I don’t think he ever put any of them to pen and paper. They live now only in my memories.
Thank you dad. Happy Father’s Day wherever you may be.