Fifty three years. That's a lot of years. Fifty three years ago on this date, my dad died. He died at about 8 o'clock on a Friday evening, in 1968. I was 15 years old. I think about that a lot. The details as I know them are still very clear. I remember all the stuff that I was told. I remember the words that were said to me to tell me why my mom and dad did not pick me up from work that night. The words were very dry, there was no emotion in those words. The fact that my dad's death caused everything in my life from that minute forward to change sounds like it would change my life for the worse, but because of the changes that resulted in that personal tragedy, I am the person I am now, and all the accomplishments I have achieved since that date, all the friends I have made and all the allegiances I have worked so very hard for are a direct result of my father's death. You might as well have driven a stake through my heart on that day, but things have a way of working out. I have done some CRAZY things since then, and I can tell you story after story of all the stuff I have done (only little bits of it were illegal, BUT really interesting and fun), but I have been really lucky and I have lived and continue to live a really interesting life. I am really lucky, but like many things, many things that I remember from my past are bittersweet. And in the past 17 months, I have had lots of opportunities for reflection, and without the bad things, there cannot be the good things. I uncovered this picture of my dad yesterday, going through boxes at the farm. Robert H. Evans. If you want to, please say his name, I say it in my mind often. Thanks for listening, and I will share more memories tomorrow. I have uncovered lots of them!
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