Tah-Dah!

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Luuuuuuuuuuc!

That's me with Luc Robitaille the day before the Kings retired ol' number 20 at the Staples Center.

Thanks to Paul Hutchins for scoring AM Radio 570 tickets to meet Luc!

Father's Day Legacy

Dad.


Dad's Boys.


Dad's Legacy.

On Easter Sunday, April 16th, 2006, my mother, brother Jon, and myself traveled back to Northern California to remember our former family patriarch. Twenty years ago to the day, my father passed away with discomfort around 10am. My mother informed me of the news as I entered through the garage door after walking home from another routine second grade day at the elementary school. I was upset that she didn't immediately call the school and pull me out of class. I was not very fond of school.

I experienced healing of the heart on this trip. I feel I was able to close a lot of doors- a lot of anger, confusion, and misunderstandings were corrected and laid to rest. My mother, brother, and I were able to talk out our perceptions of the events that led up to the day of Dad's death- each providing an interesting perspective. I learned the things I was upset about most towards my mother were results of her grieving process. After Dad died, Mom didn't talk much about him. Mom was always so damn secretive it seemed. Jon and I learned that things weren't quite as perfect as we thought as kids. As the cancer spread to Dad's brain, he became increasingly irrational and irritable- often losing his temper over trivial events. The last few years weren't easy for my mother to say the least. Yet she hid this from us for the sake of the family. After his death, she explained she felt it best to go on living as best we could. She tried to take us out to the movies, to dinner, to do things we did before Dad died. She didn't talk about him much after his death. She said it took her about 10 years before she was able to remember and recite the good memories again. I don't know how my mother was able to keep it together between the cancer-causing instability and the meddling family members who were offering help with one hand and causing trouble with the other. That and she had two kids to raise.

I have a whole new respect for my mother. Thank God for her faith! A few days after his death, she was hired as a salesman for an office supply firm. She had no prior work experience. I guess Dad knew the inevitable was coming and raced to teach her all he knew about his job. He was a self-employed salesman. When he was in the hospital, Mom drove all over Northern California to deliver the goods and meet the customers. It's amazing to me that while even in the presence of death, my father had the foresight to prepare my mom for the aftermath. God blessed our family and I am grateful.

It's also interesting to see how Jon and I are like our dad in different ways. Jon grew up more in a city environment when he was young and was influenced by Dad's carpentry, mechanical ability, and interest in trains and cars. By the time I was old enough to become influenced by my dad, he was already confined to his bed waiting to die. I wasn't able to absorb any of the mechanics. By that time we had moved to Elk Grove which at that time was completely void of anything that would remind you of a city. We lived on 5 acres of land and he had always intended to raise livestock there. Jon's the city goer with the four-car garage. I'm the guy who wants the four-stabled barn. I didn't realize how much of my longing for the country is rooted in my father.



This is our old house in Elk Grove. Dad built the entire foundation. It had a 4-car garage. To the left are cows and the right-side neighbor had a donkey and sheep and a German shepherd named Brisa.

We spent Easter Sunday at our old church, but we didn't recognize anyone. The old Pastor who had conducted the funeral ceremony is no longer with the church. We heard a few rumors, but I don't know if any of it is true. After church, we drove down the street to the cemetery where our journey reached its destination.

Dad was only a little more than 10 years older than me when he died. Today he would be a grandpa with his second grandchild a few months away. I'm sad that those little boogers will never know who makes up 25 percent of their body and soul. I'm afraid that they might come to think that many of the stories we tell of Dad are exaggerations. But that's who he was. He was a living exaggeration. Dad did more in his 39 years than most people do in their entire lives.

I think about my dad every day. I wonder how much we'd get along. Would we get along? I suppose so. Mom always says Dad thought he understood me better than anyone else. But I'll never know. I wonder why God permitted this to happen. As I get older and I see how God directed our lives, it becomes more clear. I'll never be happy that God chose not to intervene, but I recognize that He sees a bigger picture. There are no guarantees in life and we are not entitled to anything. Our purpose is to serve- and serve I will until the Lord calls an end to my service. Looking back over the life of my dad- his past, our present, and his ongoing legacy- through the pain that always lingers, I find joy in his memory. Steve Price had a good run.