My wife never had a chance to meet my dad. (That's him on the left, at one of his favorite haunts, sitting at the bar at the Oxford Hotel. He stopped there every night on his way home for a beer. The man on the right is my uncle, Pete Watterson, who tended bar.)
But she thinks she knows him. That's because she's lived with me for 32 years.
I lost my father 38 years ago.
I wish his grandkids would have had the chance to know him. Maybe then they would understand their father and his odd ways a bit better.
My father was the original "Quiet Man."
The apple didn't fall far from the tree.
It's in my Monday print column.
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