He was a big man, or at least he seemed to be when I was younger. Huge in every way. He stood close to six feet tall at the time, had a booming voice one could not mistake when heard in a crowd and a smile that stretched from ear to ear.

He is much smaller now, his health failing in many ways but his heart is growing and shining more than it has in probably thirty some odd years.

When I was growing up he was heavily involved in local and federal politics as well as holding his regular profession. He was very social and I remember clearly my mother's voice asking if when we got the dept. store, could he possibly join us for at least some of the time. He seldom did. As soon as he walked through the doors one person or another would firmly clasp his hand in greeting and we would find him there, still talking, as we made our way through the check-out. Often with someone totally different. He knew everyone, and he loved to talk.

He was active within his community for many years and often worked behind the scenes helping out those less fortunate. He has grown a garden every year for decades and gives much of the food away. As part of his role in local politics he worked hard for those without a voice. He is by nature, a giver in life and not all that comfortable even opening a present for himself.

When he was forty two my mother died and left him the single father of six children. It was a very painful and difficult time in his life and not one I am sure he ever totally recovered from. Although very handsome and never lacking for female companionship, he would never re-marry. No one truly knows the full reasons, I suspect his heart could not bear another heartache.

As these later years have encroached upon him he and I have had some pretty amazing and heartwarming conversations that have led me to write a series of writings simply called: "A Conversation With My Father"

Yesterday we shared one such conversation.

It is interesting to note my father is larger than life even with his diminishing physical size. He appears to be rough and gruff, but he is more sensitive than most realize. As time moves on that sensitivity allows itself to show more and more often.

Since my mothers death my father has occupied the same house, and for the past twenty years or so he has done so alone, or with the various pets he has had. To say things were becoming a bit run down from the lack of a woman's touch, would be putting it mildly. Everyone was beginning to worry.

That

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