I won't talk long. My father became a man of fewer words as time went on, and that seems a worthy thing to emulate.
Much of what I am, for good or ill, I owe to him. He was not, really, a strong man, but he tried to be strong. He was not a rich man, but he kept his job, owned a house, and raised a family, all of whom are here today. That's no small accomplishment.
He loved the outdoors, and spent many happy hours fishing. Some of our happiest memories - Becky's, Eddie's, and mine - are of playing at Miller's Fork or Twelve Pole Creek.
He was a gifted artist with a degree from Marshall College, as it was then. I wish he had indulged that gift more often.
He looked a little like Clark Gable, and loved the music of Artie Shaw.
He was proud of his children and said so many times. He loved his wife and said so, many times.
He was a man of fewer words as time went by. Some of his last few were, "I'm tired," but he's not, anymore. He's resting now.
©2008 Alan P. Scott. All rights reserved.
Last updated January 24, 2008.