Fathers Day

I was a small boy when my Dad died. It always makes me sad to remember him on this day. I think about what he was like. What he might have thought about the events of the last fifty years. I have always had an emptiness inside that no one could fill. I would dream those first few years that somehow he would show up, having just gone on an other trip, and he would somehow be alive. There were some men who tried to help fill in, teaching me how to sail or mentoring my art. No one could replace my Dad.