Dr. Bob Lorinser remembers Bob Sr.
Happy Father's Day
I remember my dad as 'my dad'. I remember the laughter, kindness, and disappointments. I remember his alcoholism, and much more. He was not perfect, but no one is. He was not always right, but again, no one is. My dad was not always there when I needed or wanted him. I remember good times and bad.
But, he was my dad.
Growing up, I remember tagging along with him at work, the railroad. I remember riding in the caboose as his friends and co-workers said to me, “You’re Bob Jr.! It's nice to meet you." I cherished going to the VFW, where he worked his second job. Or, going to the stockyards — his third job to support his family — getting butted by a sheep who took offense to my work.
He was my dad.
I loved him, and I knew he loved my siblings and me. When we were adults my brother Steve and Dad didn’t see eye-to-eye. But, when he was dying of brain cancer, my dad cared for him. When Steve died, part of my dad died.
He was our dad.
The best times were when I was father of three children — Amy, Andrew, and Peter. He was much older. Grandpa Bob was special. Grandpa Bob was there for them. They cherish times of root beer floats, s'mores, breakfast at Grandpas, just being their grandpa.
He was their 'Grandpa!'
My children have no disappointments. I was so proud to be his son, seeing my children playing with my dad.
When my Dad died, part of me did, too.
I am my dad’s son. I love my children and their children. No job or task is more important than family. Forgive me if I ever forget that.
To all us Dads — biological, foster, or adopted — let us celebrate our families and being 'Dad!'