Today's is my father's birthday. He would have been 103 years old. And even though he's been gone for more than ten years, I think about him every day. I think about how he hated flies because "he knew where they'd been". I think about him every time I leave my back door open because he'd tell us to "close the door...were you born in a barn?".
He was born Stanley Edgar Echternacht. He changed Edgar to Edward because he didn't like Edgar. He fought in Burma in WWII; went to pharmacy school on the GI bill; owned a small-town pharmacy for more than fifty years and loved Nebraska. He knew the license plate number for every county. My father was brilliant. He worked crossword puzzles with a pen and took naps. He and my Mom Rita raised five children. He and my grandfather built several Sears kit houses in my home town and they also built our first house. Stan was not a good visitor, but he was kind and loving and generous and my brothers and sister called him "Stan the Man" because he was the best man we ever knew and we were lucky to have him for our father.
No comments:
Post a Comment